


How to Kiss a Turian

by lyriumlovesong



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Turians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/pseuds/lyriumlovesong
Summary: A corny how-to guide on romancing turians somehow ends up on Autumn Shepard's datapad. Is it someone's idea of a practical joke, or are they giving her just the right kind of nudge at an opportune time?





	1. What's so great about turians?

**Author's Note:**

> **Foreword**
> 
> _Has a special turian caught your eye? Well, dear reader, the first thing you should know is this: you are not alone!_
> 
> _Though some tensions remain between our two species, human interest in turians is on the rise. While attraction to this extraterrestrial race was once considered at best a quirk of character and at worst a taboo fetish, as we grow to learn more about our tall, armored friends, the stigma is lessening. With this new atmosphere of acceptance and appreciation between our peoples, we are seeing romantic, long-term interspecies relationships becoming more and more prevalent._
> 
> _But, as with anyone exploring uncharted territory, many humans—and their would-be turian partners—begin these relationships with a host of questions: What cultural differences exist with regards to courtship and mating? Are we biologically compatible? Can we reproduce together? Even the most universal expression of romantic feelings among humans—a simple kiss—may seem like a completely new challenge._
> 
> _That is how I came to write the very guide you now hold in your hands._
> 
> _For nearly five years, my team and I have been conducting research on human-turian relationships in order to answer these questions and better understand how our two species can have meaningful romantic relationships, without sacrificing physical displays of affection and a fulfilling sex life. We’ve compiled data based on extensive study of turian history, culture, and biology, as well as real-life anecdotes from actual human-turian couples detailing how some of the challenges can be overcome and a truly happy union achieved._
> 
> _It is my belief that encouraging and supporting human-turian romance will bolster our overall relationship, continuing to strengthen our alliances and create a lasting peace between our two species. We hope that you find this guide both enjoyable and informative, leaving you confident and optimistic about exploring this exciting new relationship!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Dr. Janet Wilcox-Price, Ph.D._   
>  _Director of Anthropology and Turian Studies, Purdue University_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Autumn Shepard blinked her eyes and stared down at the yellow screen of the tablet between her hands, wondering how the hell this file ended up there.
> 
>  _She_ certainly hadn’t downloaded it. She’d just curled up under the covers to do a little bit of pre-bedtime reading and there it was, waiting for her among the other e-books stored on her datapad. Out of sheer curiosity, she’d clicked on it—in retrospect, probably a stupid idea. Who opens a strange file they didn’t download themselves, especially on a ship full of people she barely knows run by a shady organization like Cerberus? It could have been a virus that infected the entire ship’s electronic communications system, or else a cleverly-disguised detonator for a hidden bomb in the cargo hold.
> 
> Fortunately for her, it did exactly what it said on the tin. But that didn’t make it any less of a mystery.
> 
> As far as she knew, not another living soul—on the Normandy or off—was aware of how she felt toward the only Turian aboard. Which meant the only logical conclusions were: A) someone on her crew was far more observant than she first realized, or B) she was being way, _way_ too obvious.
> 
> She opened up her extranet browser and ran a search for Janet Wilcox-Price. According to the results, she was in fact a real person and an expert on turians, with _How to Kiss a Turian_ listed among her published works, along with a collaborative study on the history of art in Palaven and a book of turian dishes converted to use human-safe ingredients.
> 
> Wrinkling her nose at the recipe preview—a varren-based stew—she switched back to the guide. Whoever sent it had obviously thought it might be a useful resource. That, or it was their idea of a practical joke. Either way, here it was, just sitting on her datapad. Waiting to be read.
> 
> It couldn’t hurt just to look at a chapter or two.

_We posed this question to all of the humans in our survey pool, and just about everyone had the same answer: everything!_

_“I just think they’re so amazing all around,” said Heather, a 31-year-old mass relay maintenance technician. She’s been with her turian girlfriend, Vaeria, for two years. “I mean, you’ve got the size, the physique, all that jazz. But they have the greatest personalities as well--confident and dedicated. There’s just nothing I don’t love about Vae!”_

_Similar answers came up again and again, mentioning many of the same features._

_While some might find a turian’s size imposing—they do tend to be much taller and larger overall than humans—responses from our real-life couples indicate that this is not at all a deterrent, and is in fact a turn-on for most. Couple that with their muscular build and their sharp, angular features, and it comes as no surprise that so many humans find them incredibly attractive._

_When it comes to personality, our respondents cited loyalty and self-confidence high on the list of positive traits, along with discipline, a stellar work ethic, and a commitment to public service for which the turian race is known. On a grand scale, these attributes certainly make them valuable allies in our efforts toward intergalactic peace and prosperity, but they can also be incredibly helpful traits in a romantic partner as well._

_Once a turian commits to a relationship, romantic or platonic, their loyalty is unmatched. You won’t have to worry about wandering eyes or fickle hearts! And while initially they might seem rigid and almost militaristic in their day to day lives, many find that a turian in a romantic relationship is actually quite nurturing and empathetic, desiring to take care of their partner both physically and emotionally._

 

* * *

 

The blare of the alarm clock on the nightstand cut abruptly into Autumn’s dreams. Rolling over in the dark, she snarled at its glowing interface.

“Shut the hell up.”

The alarm went silent at her words, and she grumbled to herself, rubbing at her eyes until the bleariness cleared.

Autumn had never been a morning person, even growing up on Mindoir. She’d been raised as a stereotypical farm kid, which meant early wake up calls so they could get chores done before school. Her three older brothers would always rise and shine right on time, but she had frequently required several gentle reminders from her mother (and, on occasion, a stern warning from her father) before she would tumble reluctantly out of her bed.

Adult life proved to be no different, even after years of military service—which also meant plenty of early mornings to make time for physical conditioning and breakfast before the day’s work began. No matter how many times that alarm went off at 0500, she still didn’t feel used to it.

And it probably didn’t help that she’d stayed up past her normal lights-out time to read that silly guide.

A quick shower helped perk her up somewhat, but she still felt a bit like a shambling husk as she dressed herself, nearly losing her balance as she yanked her pants up over her damp skin. Wiping condensation off the mirror with her palm, she plaited her dark hair into a pair of neat French braids, her practiced fingers making short work of it even through the fog of her sleepiness. Once she finally felt presentable, she exited her cabin and stood in the bright lights of the hallway, waiting for the elevator.

Moments later, she had arrived on the third deck and crossed the mess hall in long strides, making a beeline for the coffee station, so focused on her mission that she didn’t notice that her movements were being followed by a pair of pale blue eyes on the other side of the room.

Reaching up into a cabinet, she grabbed a mug emblazoned with the black and gold Cerberus logo and then turned toward the coffee pot, reaching for the handle. She peered into it. Scarcely a mouthful was swirling around in the bottom of the pot. Mouth twisting into a frown, she glanced up at the homemade sign above the machine printed neatly in her own handwriting:

_This ship runs on caffeine. If you empty the pot, make a new one._

“Technically,” said a familiar voice from behind her, “it’s not  _empty_.”

Autumn turned toward Garrus, who had seated himself at an otherwise empty table. He gestured at a steaming mug next to him.

 _“You_  did this?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and putting a hand on her hip. “I expect better from you, Vakarian.”

“Me? Hell no. I know better than to disobey my commander’s direct orders.” He gestured at the sign. “I just saw that the pot was almost empty, and I knew you’d be up in a minute, so I snagged you one before the rest of the vultures descended.”

“Okay, so who do I need to flay for leaving a teaspoon of coffee in the bottom of the pot so they could avoid brewing more on a fucking technicality?”

“Massani. He got there right after I secured your ration.”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes, rinsing out the dregs of the coffee and preparing another pot. “I should have known.”

Once the fresh batch was percolating, she crossed to the table and took a seat opposite Garrus. He slid the mug over to her.

“Two creams, one sugar,” he told her, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m impressed.” She raised her eyebrows as she lifted the cup to her lips.

“Eh, you watch someone fix their coffee every morning for almost a year, you learn how they like it.”

She smiled at this. “It’s good to have you back, Vakarian.”

“Good to _be_ back, Commander,” he replied, and though she’d always found it a little tricky to read turian facial expressions, she could hear the smile returned in his voice. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve said a proper ‘thank you’ yet. I appreciate you saving my ass back there on Omega.”

“Eh,” she said, giving him an impish grin over the rim of her mug, “you save someone’s ass every day for almost a year, you kind of grow to like it.”

Garrus’s mandibles flared outward as he laughed. 

“Well, fuck you too, Shepard,” he told her, taking a swig of his own drink—this one bright green and packaged in a tube. He made a smacking sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then looked back up at her. “But it’s good to know you’ve grown to like my ass.”

Autumn nearly spit out her mouthful of coffee, prompting a guffaw from the turian as he watched her struggle to swallow it.

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant,” she said finally in a choked voice, a red flush prickling over her cheeks.

“Do I?” It was Garrus’s turn to give her a mischievous look now, and he seemed to relish watching her squirm a bit. Leaning back again, he swirled the tube gripped in his hand, the green liquid sloshing against the clear sides. “Anything fun on the docket for today?”

Grateful for the subject change, she cleared her throat.

“Heading to Illium, actually,” she told him. “To Nos Astra. We’re supposed to be looking for an asari Justicar there. And I’m also hoping to get in a meeting with Liara.”

“Ah, of course. I’ve heard T’Soni’s set herself up as quite the information dealer. Never would’ve guessed it from her; she always seemed too gentle for that sort of work.”

“I thought the same thing,” Autumn agreed, “but people change. A lot can happen in two years.”

“Yeah.” Garrus’s expression hardened as his eyes slid away from hers. “It sure as hell can.”

She watched his grip around the glass container tighten, and she realized that it was her friend who needed a change of subject now.

“How’re the rations treating you?” she asked him, gesturing at the green drink.

He seemed to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him, meeting her gaze again and then glancing down at the tube in his hand.

“Oh, it’s regular gourmet fare,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Dried meat that looks and tastes like old leather, pouches of bland protein paste, and this stuff, appetizingly named _Synthetic Energy Beverage, Flavor #5._ It’s the least offensive thing on the menu, but it’s a low bar to clear.”

“That bad, huh?” She gave him a pitying look, but he waved a hand in a dismissive gesture.

“I shouldn’t complain. It’s a human ship, run by a human-centric organization, and I’m the sole turian on board. Can’t exactly expect them to break out the five-star meals just for little old me.”

“Bullshit,” Autumn said in a clipped tone. “If Cerberus can afford to have everything custom printed with their goddamn logo, from the hand towels to the coffee mugs, they can spring a little extra for decent rations for non-humans. I’ll download some vendor catalogs and have them sent to your terminal, and you can place an order with Gardner for some better food.”

“I appreciate that, Shepard,” replied Garrus, giving the tube a skeptical look. “Rations may be primarily meant to keep you alive, but having decent ones certainly makes for better morale. I’d give my right arm for some real food.”

“I know the feeling. Gardner does his best, but pretty much any military-issue space food is processed all to hell. It just doesn’t taste the same.”

“What do you miss most?” he asked.

She thought about this, leaning back in her chair and turning her eyes to the ceiling. Garrus kept his gaze trained on them as she ruminated. The left was a light blue, not unlike the color of his own, but her right eye was a greenish-brown shade, something humans called “hazel.” When they’d first met, he wondered if the blue one might be blind, but she’d explained that it functioned just fine. She’d just been born like that.

“Tomatoes,” she finally said, nodding slowly. “Fresh ones like my parents had in our greenhouses on Mindoir. I used to help grow them. There weren’t any natural pollinators there, of course, so we had to go out and hand-pollinate all the plants. You just sort of go and tap the blossoms really gently. ‘Tickle the flowers,’ Mom used to say. That was always my chore in the mornings. My dad used to call me his little honeybee.”

She smiled at the memory, her mismatched eyes unfocused as she reminisced. Garrus stayed silent. It was unusual to hear the commander talk about Mindoir, and on the rare occasions she did, nobody ever interrupted.

“I haven’t seen a fresh tomato in years, just the sad, stewed kind that comes in pouches to be made into soups or sauces. But a fat, fresh, juicy tomato, sprinkled with a little salt… that would be heaven.” She looked back at him, still smiling. “But I’m not slurping flavorless nutrient pastes out of pouches, so I won’t bitch.”

“Me eating shit food doesn’t mean you can’t miss your tomatoes,” he told her with a shrug.  
  
“True,” she said, nodding. “But someone’s always got it worse than me. I try to keep that in mind.” She drained the rest of the coffee, then stood and arched her back, stretching her arms as she opened her mouth in a wide yawn. “I should go check my messages and then get things settled for Illium. You want to come along and say hi to our pretty blue friend?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, crossing an ankle over one knee. “Be nice to see more of the old crew. Besides, how much trouble could we run into in a place like Nos Astra?”


	2. Turian Physiology

_When it comes to what’s on the inside, humans and turians certainly have more in common than not. But on the outside, in many ways, it seems our two species couldn’t be more different._

_Perhaps the most obvious divergence is the hardened plating the turian race has evolved, which is a product of the weak magnetic field on their home planet, Palaven. Radiation levels on the planet’s surface are incredibly high as a result, prompting most of the planet’s inhabitants to compensate with a thick layer of armor over their skin, not unlike the chitinous exoskeletons we see on many of Earth’s native insects. However, unlike insects, a turian’s armored plating does not provide their body’s structure—they have internal calcium-based skeletons for that, similar to our own in structure, but more bird-like in form._

_While this spectacular feat of evolution serves a vital purpose on their homeworld, it can pose a challenge to humans who aren’t sure how to work around areas of heavy desensitization. But not every inch of a turian’s body is covered in plating, and there are certain tender spots that can be exploited in order to really maximize physical pleasure. (Have we piqued your curiosity yet? We’ll dig more into that in a future chapter!)_

_Turian plating can come in a variety of different colors, from deep brown tones to pale silver, and it carries a beautiful metallic sheen owing to small amounts of thulium present in the hardened skin. Most turians also display markings on the face, which often correlate to their colony of origin. For many, these markings are a point of pride and can be a good conversation starter on a first date if you want to know more about where they hail from._

_The turian voice has garnered much appreciation from humans, and many of the humans in our survey pool cited it in their top three most attractive physical traits._

_“His voice just makes me weak,” says Meredith, a 29-year old nurse. She’s been in a relationship with her turian husband, Lanitus, for nearly a decade. “Just hearing it can get my engines revving even after a long, stressful day on the job.”_

_You’ve probably noticed that turians have a notable flanging effect to their voices, owing to an additional pair of vocal chords in their throats. When a turian says ‘I love you,” he says it in stereo!_

_And of course, we would be remiss if we didn’t talk about the turians’ size and muscular build, listed as the number one turn-on by our human survey pool. Back home on Palaven, their species is an apex predator, having evolved the same keen eyesight and long, sharp teeth characteristic of many familiar reptilian predators on Earth._

_Because a large portion of the turian homeworld is covered in open plains, prey species on the planet have evolved the ability to use high speeds to escape, necessitating a similar evolution in the turian species to compensate. As such, they have the long, lean muscular structure one would expect from a race of people made for long sprints over flat terrain._ _A turian’s body is built for endurance, and they don’t mind a little bit of a chase!_

* * *

 

The shuttle bay of the Normandy SR-2 was normally the coldest spot on the ship, which made it the perfect candidate for an impromptu gym. Autumn had convinced the Illusive Man to free up a few thousand credits for a treadmill and a set of free weights so that the crew could keep in tip-top shape, and today she was taking advantage of the little corner space for an evening workout.

She’d laid out a small cushioned mat and was in the middle of a set of push ups when Garrus walked out into the bay from the elevator, dressed in sweats with a white Cerberus-branded towel draped over one arm. As he approached, he felt glad that she was too focused on her exercise to notice him watching.

Most of the time when he saw the commander, she was covered by a suit of heavy armor or her casual gear, both of which left much to the imagination. Today, she was wearing a pair of red running shorts and a black sports bra, muscles flexing and relaxing in rythm as she worked and beads of sweat glistening on her skin. Thin lines of scarring still showed from where Cerberus had pieced her body back together, a subtle glow emanating from below her skin where cybernetic implants maintained the integrity of her skeletal structure.

Not wanting to startle her, he cleared his throat as he got nearer, and she glanced up over her shoulder at him.

“Mind if I use the treadmill?” he asked, gesturing toward the machine near the back wall.

“Nope,” she said, returning to her exercise. “Already did my cardio.”

Garrus stepped onto the belt, stripping off his sweatshirt to reveal what looked like a modified muscle tank underneath, the neck cut wide to accommodate the broad ridge of his carapace. He hung the pullover on one of the handrails, along with the towel. His vantage point gave him a direct line of sight to Shepard, who had finished her set of push-ups and was now sitting up on her knees, reaching for a water bottle. He hadn’t done this on purpose, of course, but he also wasn’t complaining about the view.

He punched a few buttons and the machine whirred into action, speeding along until he was running at a nice, steady warm-up pace.

“How’re you feeling?” Autumn asked, standing up and turning to face him. Her shoulder-length hair had been pulled into its usual twin braids, but the exertion of her workout had loosened several pieces that stuck out at odd angles, and sweat matted a couple of wavy tendrils against her forehead. Even in her unkempt state, he found himself wanting to let his gaze linger longer than it should.

“Well,” he replied, ticking things off on his fingers as he jogged, “we battled a rogue asari Spectre, got sent halfway across the galaxy into a lightning storm, and then a yahg threw most of a table on top of me, so... I’ve been better. Turians don’t bruise like humans do, but most of me feels like freshly tenderized meat right now.”

Autumn gave him a crooked grin, wiping her brow with the back of her wrist. “I’m none too pleased about how that fight shook out, myself. Would’ve been a lot easier with three guns on our side.”

“My apologies. I’ll try to get my ass kicked a little later in the battle next time.”

At this, she outright laughed, turning away from him again. “That would be great.”

He watched as she knelt down and got herself into a plank position, her core tightening visibly as she held herself up on her forearms.

“What about you?” he asked, hoping to distract himself with talk. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Her voice sounded strained with the effort of maintaining her pose. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
“One of your oldest and closest friends is now the infamous Shadow Broker. That has to feel weird.”

She was silent for a moment, finishing her plank and then rolling over onto her back. She stared at the high metal ceiling of the shuttle bay, contemplating.

“It _is_ weird,” she admitted, “mostly just because it’s T’Soni. It’s like you said, she seems too kind-hearted to take on the mantle of someone so ruthless. And she knows all of our dirty secrets now. Not that I don’t trust her, I just... I can’t wrap my head around it yet.”

She paused, then bent her legs and began doing sit-ups, her face appearing over the twin hills of her knees at regular intervals.

“Still,” she said between crunches, “the intel she can provide will be nice.”

“Better her than that overgrown ogre she replaced,” he agreed, breathing harder now as the treadmill’s speed increased to a full-on run.

“I dunno, I felt kind of sorry for him.”

The plates above Garrus’s eyes furrowed into a skeptical expression. “He’d have eaten you for breakfast without a second thought, Shepard.”

“Probably,” she agreed, sitting up fully and resting her elbows on her knees. She wiped her brow again. “Still, though. Being smuggled off-world as an experiment, taken away from everything familiar, just to satisfy someone’s curiosity? You have to admit, it’s pretty messed up. I’m not saying I’m sad he’s gone, but I still empathize.”

The turian shook his head.

“You’re too soft for your own good sometimes, you know that?”

She shrugged, then stood and turned away from him again, reaching up toward the ceiling and stretching her arms. He could see the lines and shadows of her shoulder muscles standing out in sharp relief under the harsh white lights lining the walls. Clearly, the push ups were paying off.

He hadn’t prepared himself for what happened next. Autumn bent forward, wrapping her palms around her ankles and putting her shapely rear end on full display.

The loud crashing sound that issued from the direction of the treadmill made her straighten, whirling around to see him lying in a heap on the floor behind the machine’s belt, which was still sliding along at a high speed.

“Garrus!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening as she jogged over. “Are you all right?”

He blinked, cradling his head in his palms.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he grumbled. “I think my skull broke my fall.”

She placed a hand over her mouth, suppressing a laugh as she reached up to switch off the treadmill. The whirring sound stopped, and she could see a large gouge in the belt where one of his talons had caught it.

“What happened?”

Garrus avoided her gaze, waving a hand. “Oh, just tripped over my own two feet. I don’t think these things are built with a turian’s gait in mind.”  Glancing up, he saw that she was reaching a hand out to him. He gripped her arm, careful not to scratch her with a claw as he allowed her to pull him into a standing position. “Be great if just _once_ this week the day didn’t end with you picking my ass up off the floor.”

She grinned, and he realized he had never been this close to her before without the shield of a helmet between them. He'd never noticed the way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled, or the barely-there freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. Despite the humiliation he felt internally—he was incredibly grateful at the moment that turians couldn’t blush—he found himself thinking that human skin was really rather pretty to look at. Or, at least, Shepard’s was. He was still breathing heavily, and he inhaled her familiar smell—something light and floral, on top of a heady basenote of sweat.

“This place is more popular than Chora’s Den on one-credit drink night.”

Garrus quickly dropped Autumn’s arm, and they both turned to see Jacob Taylor approaching. He gave them a friendly smile, gesturing toward the free weights.

“Either of you two planning to lift, or can I steal the bench for a bit?”

“Have at it,” Autumn told him. “Unless you wanted to use it?”  She turned toward Garrus, who shook his head.

“I think my body’s had just about all it can take.”

“Still recovering from your run in with the Shadow Broker, Vakarian?” Jacob asked, setting down his towel and slinging one leg over the weight bench.

Garrus glanced at Autumn, hoping she wouldn’t disclose what had just happened. Of the two incidents, he’d have preferred another round against the yahg. The corner of her mouth twitched, but she stayed mercifully silent.

“Yeah, something like that,” he replied, grabbing his sweatshirt and towel from the handrail of the machine. “I think I’m gonna hose off and hit the hay early.”

“Let me grab my things,” Autumn said, walking back to roll up her mat. “I’ll walk you up.”

He almost protested. After flying off the treadmill into a damn wall, he didn’t think he could handle the added embarrassment of an awkward elevator ride with the very distraction that had caused him to lose his footing. But in the interim while he hemmed and hawed, she had already gathered her belongings and crossed back over to him.

“Have a good workout, Taylor,” she called over her shoulder. Jacob gave her a nod and then shot a funny sort of grin at Garrus before laying back on the bench with a pair of dumbbells and beginning a set of chest presses.

“You sure your head’s okay?”

Garrus turned back to Autumn, raising a hand to his forehead as they walked. “I’ll live. It was just a two-foot thick steel wall.”

She snorted, reaching out to press the button that would hail the elevator. “Maybe you should wear a helmet to run next time.”

“Shut up, Shepard.”

She gave him her signature impish smile, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as they waited for the door to open. Shepard rarely stood still, it seemed. He'd noticed this about her straightaway. She paced back and forth while strategizing with the crew, and at meals, she'd often jiggle one leg under the table. He wondered if she paddled her feet in her sleep, as well.

The inside of the elevator had never felt so small to him as they both stepped in. Each of them reached for the button at the same time, then drew their hands back and apologized over one another. Finally, Autumn did the honors, clearing her throat.

“You know, I set up some shore leave this weekend,” she said as the door slid shut again.

“Oh?”

“Mmm hmm. On the Citadel. Feel like everyone could use a couple days off to decompress. And you can get some real food, for once.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He fidgeted with his things, tossing around in his mind for something else to say, but before he could come up with anything the door was sliding open again onto the third deck. “This is me,” he said, stepping out.

“Hope you feel better, Vakarian.”

“You too.” He realized what he’d said a fraction of a second too late, and he turned to correct himself only to be met with the door hissing closed in his face. He shook his head, rolling his eyes as he ran a hand over his face. “ _‘You too?’_ Fuck.”

“Everything okay?” asked a kind voice nearby. Kasumi Goto stood just outside the door to the women’s showers, scrunching at her hair with a towel draped like a hood over her head. Her eyes followed him from beneath it as he walked past.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Fine. Just gonna go throw myself out an airlock.”


	3. Inside the Mind of a Turian

_Now that we’ve had a look at what’s on the outside, let’s take a closer look at the inner traits that make turians such desirable partners—not just for a night, but for the long-term._

_It goes without saying that each individual has their own unique personality. Just as no two humans are the same, you won’t find a pair of turians who are exactly alike, either. But as with any group of people that share a common culture, the history of the turian race has shaped the way they interact with the rest of the universe._

_One of the positive characteristics many of our survey respondents cited in their partner was a fierce loyalty unmatched by any of the previous relationships they’ve been in._

_Derek, a 38-year-old physicist, has been dating his Turian partner Caitis for about three years now, and the two recently became engaged. “I don’t worry about him cheating,” Derek says. “His fidelity is never something I question, and he’s always got my back, no matter what.”_

_But the admiration is rarely one-sided, as we found. Turians have notoriously high standards and will tend to choose their mate carefully. Several of our human respondents mentioned that their relationship with their turian partner began as a deep and trusting friendship, which blossomed over time into a romance. This seems to lend credence to the idea that few turians engage in casual relationships with humans, instead pursuing them only once they are certain they are worthy of a long-term commitment._

_“I wouldn’t stray from Derek,” explains Caitis, “because in my mind he has no equal. I can’t imagine finding anyone else as brilliant or caring, even if I scoured the whole Milky Way. When you choose the right one, you don’t find yourself wanting to look elsewhere. Anyone else would be inferior compared to him.”_

_We’ve also mentioned the turians’ affinity for public service, which is influenced by their heavily militarized social structure. We’ll explore this more thoroughly with the rest of turian culture in a later chapter, but this tendency toward self-sacrifice for the good of others carries over into romantic relationships as well, making them incredibly supportive and selfless lovers._

_However, it can also mean—at least for some individuals—that they are somewhat uncomfortable taking the lead and prefer to let their partner initiate beginning to explore the possibility of a relationship._

 

* * *

 

A gentle breeze blowing through the Presidium played across Autumn’s face, tickling a few stray waves of dark hair against her forehead. She let her eyes wander across the lake that formed the centerpiece of the park at the heart of the Citadel. The wind was artificial, of course, manufactured like everything else here in order to give the commons a more terrestrial atmosphere. Still, she couldn’t help but find comfort in it. Resting her elbows on the railing in front of her, she gazed at a nearby waterfall, lost in her thoughts.

The rest of the crew had all gone separate ways for the day, venturing off on their own to let their proverbial hair down. She, on the other hand, had spent the first chunk of her “leave” working, her entire morning eaten up by a long meeting with Councilor Anderson. 

Typical, really. If Kaidan had been around, he’d be standing here gently lecturing her about how she needed to learn how to turn off for one whole minute of her life.

She heaved a sigh at the thought of him. Alenko had actually made up a large portion of her discussion with Anderson. She hadn’t been surprised at all to find that Kaidan had reported their conversation on Horizon directly to the councilor, again expressing his concern for the fact that she was, to all appearances, working for Cerberus. 

Her mouth twisted into a frown as she remembered his words, the way he’d scolded her for failing to contact him during her two-year absence. The fact that she hadn’t been conscious for most of it didn’t seem to have made a difference to him, nor had the months he had spent under her command, watching her work, seeing the results, and putting his trust in her to lead. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, her own anger bubbling up again. Had none of it mattered to him? Did _she_ not matter to him?

The sound of heavy boots against concrete reached her ear, and she turned to see Garrus climbing the steps up to the platform where she was standing. 

“Miranda told me I might find you near the embassy,” he said, coming to a stop beside her. “Figures you’d be working on your first day off in months.”

“Anderson needed to see me,” she explained, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt. She leaned sideways against the railing. “He wanted to debrief about Horizon.”

He took in her furrowed brow and pursed lips. “Was he upset with you? You look pissed.”

“I am. But it’s not Anderson. It’s Kaidan.”

“Ah.” The turian nodded, a knowing expression on his face. “I gather our old friend took it upon himself to share his opinions on your new mission with the councilor?”

Autumn nodded, and Garrus could see the muscles working in her temple as she clenched her teeth. The directive to travel to Horizon had come down while he’d been lying in the med bay, still recovering from the injuries he’d sustained in the firefight on Omega. Shepard had sat on the edge of his cot and filled him in on what had happened as soon as she’d arrived back at the Normandy, her frustration over the situation obvious as she relayed her conversation with Kaidan. She hadn’t mentioned it since. 

“It just made me angry all over again,” she explained. “After everything we’ve been through together…”

“I remember you two being quite close.”  Garrus glanced away from her, casting his gaze anywhere but her eyes as he asked the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind since she’d returned from her trip to Horizon. “Did you and Alenko have, you know... _feelings_ for one another?” 

Autumn took a deep breath, turning back to face the waterfall and leaning on her elbows again.

“I care very deeply for Kaidan,” she replied. She glanced toward Garrus, shaking her head. “But not in the way you mean.”  _Not the way I care about you,_ she thought to herself. But she left the words unsaid, hanging somewhere in limbo between her heart and her lips as she went on. “Kaidan reminds me of my oldest brother, Alex. He was the golden boy of the family, always doing what was right, even when it cost him. My parents didn’t exactly play favorites, but they sure thought Alex hung the moon. We all did, to be honest.”

Garrus gave her his equivalent of a smirk, one of his mandibles flaring a little as his mouth curved upward almost imperceptibly. “You talk about him as though _‘Do The Right Thing, No Matter What’_ isn’t your own personal motto, Shepard.”

“Where do you think I get it from?” Autumn asked, a sad smile of her own on her lips. “I looked up to Alex, more than I did to anyone else. When he was killed, it left a huge empty space in my heart. Nobody could ever fill it, not really. But Kaidan came close. He was my first friend on the Normandy. Him and Ash. And now… I don’t even know what he is to me anymore. Or what I am to him.” She blinked hard, trying to will away the burning sensation behind her eyes. “I sent him a message right after Horizon, trying to apologize and explain. He never replied. It’s been two weeks.”

She looked at Garrus, her mismatched eyes flashing and brimming with furious tears now, hands balling into fists inside her pockets.

“Williams is dead because I was forced to make a decision, and I chose him. I chose him because he was a brother to me. He was _family_. And now he can’t even be bothered to write me a fucking email?” She shook her head, a tear spilling over her cheek. “God _damn_ him.”

Garrus moved closer, raising his arm a fraction of an inch as though he wanted to touch her, to wipe away her tears or offer an embrace. But he hesitated, dropping it back down again. He opened his mouth, closed it, then spoke.

“I’m not here to make excuses for Alenko,” he said, holding her gaze, “but I think I know a bit about what’s going through his mind right now. I can’t describe what it was like to look out the window of that escape pod and see the Normandy explode, knowing you were still inside. Knowing you couldn't possibly have survived. You can’t begin to imagine how terrible that felt.”

He looked away from her, and Autumn could see him swallow hard. 

She thought back to that day on Omega when she had seen him gunned down, cobalt-colored blood spreading in a pool beneath his body, the way her heart had stopped and she’d held her breath as she crouched next to him. She could remember with perfect clarity the relief that had washed over her when he gasped for air, gulping ragged breaths, and the fear that replaced that relief when she saw his eyes swimming to and fro, unfocused and unseeing. How many hours had she spent sitting next to his cot, chewing her nails down to their beds as she waited for him to wake up from his surgery?

She _did_ know how terrible it must have felt for him, and she wanted to say as much. Instead, she kept silent, waiting for him to go on.

“When you died, Shepard... we didn’t know _what_ to do, any of us. We’d followed you to hell and back, and we’d have done it again in a heartbeat if you’d asked. And then, in a split second, you were ripped to pieces. And so were we. You weren’t just our leader, you became something more. Not just to us, but to _everyone_. You represented hope and possibility. And when you died, those things died with you.”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head again. “Don’t put me on a fucking pedestal, Vakarian. The rest of the galaxy has that covered.”

“I thought it was colonial seals they've been putting you on, not pedestals.”

Autumn crossed her arms, giving him a stern glare as she tried to fight the grin that was threatening to betray her. “Keep cracking jokes and we’re going to see how well turians can swim.” She jerked her head toward the lake. 

Garrus huffed a quiet laugh, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Fine, fine,” he said. “But my point still stands. You’d just done the impossible, and you’d shown us all what greatness we were capable of, and then it was all shattered right in front of our eyes. We had to pick up the pieces on our own, and do the best we could with them. Some of us managed better than others.” He glanced away, a shadow of shame crossing his face for a moment. “We were all just so _lost_. I think he’s still struggling with that, and with seeing you come back from all of it unscathed.”

“I don’t know that I’d say _unscathed_ ,” Autumn argued. “I’ve got more scar tissue than skin at this point, I think.”

“Still, you were dead. _All the way dead_. And you came back. Sometimes it feels a little bit like talking to a ghost.” He paused, looking out at the ascending arc of the Presidium floor as it rose upward into the distance. Then he turned back to face her again, meeting her eyes. “Give Alenko some time, Shepard. He’ll come around.”

She heaved a sigh and gave him a skeptical look, her full lips drawing into a thin line. “I hope you’re right. I just want my friend back.”

They stood there for a moment looking out over the lake, only the rushing sound of the nearby waterfall to break the silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Garrus saw Autumn swipe at her cheek with one hand.

“Hey,” he said, turning to her. “Let’s go down to that little shop in the Kithoi Ward, the one that sells that weird frozen shit you like so much.”

“Ice cream, Garrus. It’s called ice cream.”

“Yeah, that. Come on, my treat.” This time, he did raise his arm in an offering, and Autumn leaned in, resting her shoulder against him as they walked away together. “But only if you promise me you won’t do any more work for the rest of the day.”


	4. Examining Turian Culture and Customs, Part One: Holidays

_As with all advanced civilizations, the turian race has a rich, unique culture, influenced by their shared history, social hierarchy, and several millennia of evolving religious beliefs. While different colonies have developed their own traditions over the centuries, many core customs and celebrations are central to what it means to be a turian._

_At a time when humanity’s Bronze Age was coming to an end and the seeds of democracy were just beginning to take root, turians had already discovered several mass relays and spread their population to colonies across the Milky Way. Infighting began among the colonists, whose extreme isolation had sparked a dangerous trend of xenophobia toward fellow turians from other planets. Soon, the entire race was embroiled in a massive civil war. After 14 long and bloody years, Palaven’s governing body, the Turian Hierarchy, finally stepped in to end the fighting—but not before six of the turian colonies were completely eradicated._

_The Unification War, as it was later known, finally ended around 447 BCE. Every year, turians across the galaxy commemorate The Great Unification with a massive week-long celebration involving pyrotechnic shows, parades in major cities, and a large evening meal to end the festivities on Unification Day._

_While Unification is certainly the grandest and most well-known of the turian holidays, other smaller celebrations sprinkled throughout the year help strengthen the still-mending bonds between Palaven and her colonies._

_A favorite among turian children is Donum, an annual gift-giving celebration. Traditionally, each child in a turian family gives a gift to the sibling directly after them in the birth order, with the youngest child then presenting a gift to the eldest. There is one stipulation, however: each gift must be handmade, though help from the parents or guardians is permissible if the youngster can’t quite manage on their own due to young age or disability. The children often spend weeks planning and creating the perfect gift for their siblings, and turian parents delight in seeing what their children come up with. Some families even carry the tradition into adulthood, with sibling groups continuing to give gifts among themselves well into their twilight years._

_Another popular holiday among nearly all turians is Gratias, a celebration similar to the human tradition of Thanksgiving. Gratias centers around the fundamental idea of expressing gratitude for the things one has been given in life, from good health or a flourishing family to successful careers and loving relationships. In contrast to Thanksgiving, however, Gratias is celebrated with a day of fasting and austerity, which helps draw attention to the things so many people across all races take for granted. It is another holiday typically celebrated among family groups, with extended families often traveling great distances—sometimes even making a journey from the outer colonies all the way to Palaven—to come together and share in their gratitude for one another._

_A common criticism of the turian people is their emphasis on the good of the community, an idea which has led to a highly militarized social hierarchy, and which often seems to place priority on the turian collective over the singular needs of each of its members. However, to say that the turian people don’t celebrate individuality could not be further from the truth, and this becomes particularly obvious when examining the enthusiasm with which turians celebrate birthdays._

_No single day on the turian calendar is anticipated with as much excitement as the day of one’s birth. Common traditions include feasting on the individual’s favorite foods, providing them with a mixture of practical and completely frivolous gifts according to their preferences, and ending the day with a large array of sweet treats. In many ways, a turian birthday celebration looks much like a human one, making it obvious that the celebration of the day each individual’s life begins is a universally joyous occasion that transcends whatever differences may exist between our people._

* * *

  
“You want me to bake a _cake?_ ” Mess Sergeant Gardner crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Does this look like a patisserie to you, Vakarian?”

Garrus shrugged. “Well, I’d have to know what one of those is in order to answer your question. But yes, a cake. Chocolate with fresh strawberries, if possible.”

“Why do _you_ care what flavor it is? You won’t be able to eat it.”

“Because it’s the Commander’s birthday tomorrow and a little pyjack told me her favorite kind is chocolate with strawberries. We have one more day parked here at the Citadel, so finding some fresh fruit shouldn’t be too hard.”

The ‘little pyjack’ had actually been Miranda, who’d expertly baited Autumn into a conversation about their shared love for human sweets in order to find out what she’d prefer for the surprise they were cooking up behind her back. Garrus could see why Lawson had become such an asset to Cerberus. He only hoped the organization wouldn’t find some twisted way to use Shepard’s cake preferences against her somehow. If anyone could find a way, it was these people.

“If it’s so _easy_ ,” said Gardner, “why don’t _you_ go hunt down your fancy ingredients?”

Garrus narrowed his eyes at the man for a brief moment, then raised them to the ceiling. 

“Fine. I’ll get the strawberries. I have to go into the wards to look for something else anyway. But can you at least handle the cake part? Please?”

“I’ll see what I can do with all my _copious free time_ ,” the sergeant replied, the sarcasm in his tone unmistakable. “Especially given that I’ve already had the menu for dinner dictated that day, too.” 

Garrus ignored the thinly veiled complaint. “Do what you have to, just make it happen. And don’t tell Shepard anything about it. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” 

Garrus turned and walked around the corner to the elevator, pressing the button and tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for it to arrive. The door hissed open, revealing Autumn standing inside. She looked up from her datapad and met his gaze, then looked back down, hastily closing whatever she was looking at as he stepped in beside her.

“Afternoon, Vakarian. You going stationside ?”

“Yeah, I thought I would,” he replied, hoping none of his conversation with Gardner had carried into the elevator. “Might as well get off this ship and do some living while we can.” 

“ _Definitely,_ ” Autumn said enthusiastically. “Couldn’t agree more.”

Garrus gave her a sidelong look, narrowing his eyes at her. “You’re going off somewhere to work again, aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” she replied, nodding. “Yes, I am.”

He laughed, shaking his head at her. “And here I thought you had a breakthrough yesterday.”

“‘Honeybees don’t change their stripes,’ as my dad used to say.” She smiled at him, looking apologetic. “But I don’t have to get to it right away if you’d like some company for lunch? I’ll buy this time.”

The elevator came to a stop at the lowest deck. Garrus hesitated as he stepped off the platform and onto the metal grate floor of the shuttle bay.

“Ah. Yeah. That’s kind of you to offer, but the thing is, Shepard… I actually have some… stuff to do.” He paused, then added, “ _Alone_.”

The way her face fell at his rejection made him want to hurl himself into a pit of hungry thresher maws.

“Oh,” she said, seeming to recover quickly from her disappointment and fixing him with a nonchalant sort of smile as they exited the ship. “No big deal, maybe another time. Have a good one.”

She turned and walked briskly toward the direction of the shuttle to the Presidium without another word, and he watched her retreating figure, furrowing his brow plates as he frowned.

_Fuck._

Feeling like the galaxy’s biggest turd, he headed off in the opposite direction toward the transportation hub that would take him to the wards. He could only hope the surprises he and the rest of the crew were putting together would make up for it.  
   
A few hours later, Garrus headed back to the ship with bags full of sundry items hanging over both arms. Clutched between them was a large, unmarked cardboard box—the most precious part of his bounty. Hidden inside, a large plastic clamshell package of fresh strawberries was nestled next to the present he’d procured for Autumn. He cradled it tight to his chest as the public shuttle jerked to a stop near the docking bay, hoping its contents weren’t being jostled too roughly. Stepping onto the walkway, he was so absorbed in thought that he didn’t see the commander approaching from the opposite end of the room.

 “That looks like a successful shopping trip.”

He jumped at her voice, nearly fumbling the box in his arms as she came up next to him, matching his pace. Of _course_ she would be here at the exact moment he was trying to sneak back onto the Normandy. He wondered if he’d done something to piss off the spirits. They certainly seemed to be conspiring against him today.

“What’d you get?” she asked, gesturing at the bags. “Looks like you bought half the Citadel.”

He let out a nervous, false sort of chuckle. “Oh, you know. Just… some stuff.”

They crossed the shuttle bay again together, Autumn giving him a suspicious look as they walked.

“It’s mostly snacks,” he explained, which wasn’t untrue. “You know, turian stuff. Things I can keep around to make life bearable until those new rations come in.”

“Is that a box of Blast-Ohs I see?” She gestured to one of the bags. “I didn’t know that was safe for you to eat.”

“Yeah, they make a dextro version now. Tupari, too. Got some of that to supplement my ‘Synthetic Energy Beverage’ regimen.”

“Did you get anything that _isn’t_ 90% sugar?” 

“I’ve been subsisting on gray meat paste for almost two months, Shepard. Let a man live. Besides, you’re one to talk. When was the last time you drank anything that wasn’t a mug of coffee?”

She looked comically offended as the elevator door opened. “About an hour ago, thank you very much.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“ _Iced_ coffee. It comes in a _glass_ , not a mug.”

Garrus laughed for real this time, shaking his head at her. “I guess honeybees really don’t change their stripes.”

They were quiet for a moment as the platform lurched upward. Then he turned to her again.

“Hey, what’s up next? Mission-wise, that is.”

“We’ll be traveling for a couple of days, to a planet called Zeona. And then walking into a live volcano.” She gave him a wry smile. “The fun never ends."

* * *

   
The following morning, Garrus got up extra early to check on the status of the cake project. He’d snuck down to the mess hall to pass off the strawberries the night before, hoping they’d still be fresh enough by the time they presented the cake. 

Mess Sergeant Gardner showed him the little clamshell package, which had been kept in cold storage. They still looked pretty good, all things considered. A few squishy spots, but still plenty of pristine ones to slice up for the recipe.

The baking process, on the other hand, had proved to be a bit trickier than Gardner had anticipated. He showed Garrus what he’d been able to accomplish. The circles of cake were squashy and uneven, flatter in some spots than others. 

“I’ve never made a cake before in an artificial gravity environment,” the sergeant told him, frowning. “Should’ve used more baking powder. But the batter tasted fine. Offset the two layers and slap enough frosting on it and I bet she won’t be able to tell the difference.”

Garrus nodded.

“Excellent. And she has no idea what you’re up to?”

“Well, she did remark on the smell while I was baking it last night, said it was like being back in her mama’s kitchen. Told her I’d been experimenting with a recipe and it had gone wrong, so I’d regrettably had to throw the whole thing into the trash compactor. Didn’t love having to lie to my commanding officer, I have to say.”

“It’s for a good cause,” Garrus assured him. “Sometimes the ends justify the means.” 

He thanked the sergeant, then headed down the hall to life support control, where he had convinced Thane to let him store the presents he’d procured. The drell was nowhere in sight when the door opened.  

Garrus crossed the room to where he’d set up the box underneath the glow of a bright white lamp. He peeked inside.

“Knock, knock!”

He nearly leapt out of his skin, startled by the sound of Autumn’s voice for the second time in as many days. He turned toward the door, which he’d stupidly left open. The commander stepped into the room, and he moved his body to block her view of the box.

“Oh,” she said, giving him a surprised look. “I was hoping to talk to Thane. Have you seen him?”

“I haven’t.”

“Huh. Okay, I’ll see if I can track him down elsewhere, then.” She gave him another one of her suspicious expressions, her narrowed eyes darting to the edge of the box just visible behind his elbow. He shifted again. “Garrus, why are you acting like I just caught you reading a copy of Fornax?”

The turian opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, frowning. Autumn grinned, putting a hand on her hip.

“ _Is_ there a copy of Fornax in that box?” 

“What?” he asked, furrowing the plates above his eyes and feeling a prickling heat creep up his neck. “No! Of course not. It’s just… you’ll find out later.”

She quirked a brow at him. “Oh-kaaay…”  

They were silent for a minute, Garrus’s eyes darting nervously around the room as she fixed him with her dubious stare. Then she shook her head, still grinning, and turned to leave the room. 

“If you see Thane, let him know I’m looking for him, will you?”

“Yep! Sure thing!” The voice that came out of his mouth was strangely high-pitched and cracked awkwardly, and it prompted a soft laugh from the departing Shepard as she turned the corner.

Garrus let out a long breath and wiped his arm across his brow as he watched her disappear. Then he turned to peek into the box again, looking at what he’d hidden inside.

“You’d better be worth the trouble,” he told it in a low grumble. Then he tucked the flaps closed again, deciding it was best to take the box with him just in case she returned. He’d only have to keep it hidden for a few more hours.

* * *

  
Dinner on the Normandy was always served at 1800 hours, sharp. Today, however, the crew had all been asked to assemble at 1755 to take places around the mess hall, crouching down to hide as they waited for Shepard’s arrival.

Garrus glanced up at a clock on the wall. Exactly on the hour, they heard the elevator whir into motion as it started to move down from Shepard’s cabin.

“Shhh!” hissed Dr. Chakwas’s voice, coming from the direction of the galley. “Here she comes!”

Silence fell over the room as they all held their breath, anticipating the commander’s appearance from around the corner. Peering out from his vantage point, he saw her stop short, frowning at the seemingly empty room. She turned to one side, then the other.

A sharp tapping sound came from the opposite side of the mess hall—Miranda’s signal.

At once, everyone leapt from their hiding places, shouting “Surprise!” and “Happy birthday, Shepard!” in chaotic cacophony. They hadn’t coordinated what they’d all say when they popped out, but it had the desired effect, anyhow. She jumped and gave a little yelp, raising a hand to her mouth and stepping back. 

“What is this?” she exclaimed, laughing as she looked around the room at all the faces smiling at her. “I wasn’t expecting a party. You guys didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Mess Sergeant Gardner stepped forward, holding out a platter with the thickly-frosted chocolate cake, the top of which had been decorated with the pyramids of a dozen upended strawberries and a mountain of whipped cream at the center.

“Open flames are against safety regulations on this particular model of spacecraft, so I don’t have any candles for you,” he told her. “Sorry.”

“Well,” she said with a laugh, “blowing all of us into space would be a pretty bad ending to the night. And anyway, I’ve already crossed ‘dying in a fiery explosion’ off my bucket list. I honestly don’t recommend it.” There were a few chuckles among the crew at this. She smiled, looking impressed. “I’m surprised you all were able to pull this off. Nice work, team.”

“It was all Vakarian’s idea,” Jacob said, jerking his head toward Garrus. “We just helped put some of the pieces together.”

Shepard smiled at the turian, and he glanced away, looking bashful and flaring his mandibles. “It was nothing, honestly. All I did was buy some strawberries.”

“And request lasagna and a special cake for the birthday girl’s dinner,” Gardner added.

“And coordinate everyone coming down early for the surprise element,” interjected Miranda.

Jack folded her heavily tattooed arms over her chest. “And walk around the ship harassing all of us until we signed her damn card.” 

“There’s a card?” asked Shepard. Garrus brought it out from inside his jacket, walking over to hand it to her. She took the envelope from him and opened it. A shiny holographic image of her own face smiled back at her, giving her a cheerful thumbs up. Across the top, bold letters spelled out _“Hope your birthday is out of this world, little hero!”_ Autumn snorted. “Fucking hell, they’re putting me on little kids’ birthday cards now? I did  _not_ sign off on that.”

“Taylor found it,” Garrus said quickly, pointing an accusing finger at Jacob, who laughed.

“Just throw me under the bus, why don’t you?” He shrugged. “Some gift shop in the Zakera Ward was selling them. I couldn’t pass it up.” 

She looked inside, reading all the brief pleasantries with accompanying signatures from her crew—Miranda’s perfect script that looked as though it had been printed out on a computer, Mordin’s ruler-straight print, the chicken scratch she instantly recognized as Joker's, a heavy-handed message from Jack that looked more like graffiti than handwriting. Her eyes searched until she found Garrus’s untidy scrawl. 

 _Hope it’s a good one, Commander. You deserve it._  

Below this was his signature, only the capital G at the beginning really legible. The rest was just a hasty squiggle. Her lips curled into a smile as she turned her gaze back up to meet his. 

“Thanks for doing all this, Garrus.” 

He returned the grin—at least as much as the structure of his mouth would allow—and nodded.

“Happy birthday, Autumn.”

She blinked, looking taken aback, and Garrus knew exactly why. It was the first time he’d ever called her by her first name. Even he was a little surprised he’d done it. She gave him a curious look, but before she had time to say anything about it, Jack had vaulted over the table she’d been standing behind.

“Yeah, yeah, happy birthday,” she said, waving a hand impatiently as she strode toward the galley. “Are we gonna eat tonight, or not?”

The crew made short work of dinner, and the cake disappeared in record time—though not before Gardner made sure Shepard had the first and largest slice. It really had held together just fine once he’d spackled it with fudgy frosting. In between the two layers of cake, he’d hidden a thick band of the fluffy whipped cream along with more strawberries, thinly sliced and perfectly sweet. 

Garrus watched as Shepard lifted the first bite to her lips, eyes rolling backward in ecstasy as she chewed. 

“I wish you could taste this,” she told him. “It’s delicious.”

“Watching you ascend to a higher plane of existence right now is enough,” he assured her. He lifted the bowl in front of him, the spoon inside it clinking gently as he did. “Besides, I’ve got my Blast-Ohs. It’s almost the same.”

She let out a soft giggle, and the sound filled him up with warmth.

Once everyone had eaten their fill and cleared their plates, Autumn made the rounds among the crew to thank everyone on a more personal level. By the time she finally made her way back to where Garrus was seated, nearly everyone else had left the mess hall, save for Gardner and a couple of crew members who’d been given dish duty for the week. 

“This was really something,” she said, leaning her hip against the table. “Was that what you were hiding in that box in life support? Strawberries?”

“Actually,” he said as he stood to face her, “it wasn’t. I have a couple more surprises up my sleeve.”

She cocked her head. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, I just need to go retrieve them. Can I meet you somewhere?”

“You want to come up to my cabin?”

“Oh. Um…” He glanced around the room. Gardner had obviously heard the exchange and was giving him a smug sort of smile from the other side of the galley counter. “I suppose I could, if you’re sure you’re comfortable with that.” 

“Why would I be uncomfortable? Most of the crew has been up to my cabin at some point. It’s just a bedroom.” She gave him a small shrug. “But if it feels weird to you…" 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll, uh… meet you up there then.”

"Great! I'll see you in a minute.”

Garrus could feel his stomach turning somersaults as he watched her leave, and it didn’t stop the whole time he walked from the mess hall to the main battery and then back to the elevator, clinging to the box. After what seemed like the longest one-floor ride in the history of motorized vertical transportation, he approached the entrance to the captain’s quarters.

He took a deep, measured breath, then rapped his knuckles against the steel door. He’d barely pulled his hand away again before it opened to reveal Shepard leaning over her desk, checking her emails. She straightened as he entered, smiling up at him.

“Hey,” she said warmly. “Welcome to my humble abode.” 

Garrus looked around the room, feeling a twinge of jealousy at the size of her bed in comparison to his little bunk on the crew deck. He spent a moment taking in the gigantic aquarium lining one wall of the room.  

“Nice fish.” 

“Thanks. They’re new. Little birthday treat I bought myself this weekend.”

“Speaking of which,” he said, turning and thrusting the gift toward her. His heart hammered in his chest, the pulse reverberating through his mandibles and pounding in his ears.

She took the box, setting it down on the surface of the desk and raising a hand to the interlocked flaps closed over the top. “Shall I?” she asked, glancing in his direction.

Garrus gestured for her to proceed, and she pulled back the flaps, peering inside. She stopped, looked up at him with round, surprised eyes, and then turned her gaze back down to the box. Reaching in, she carefully lifted out a small pot. In the center, a small seedling with ruffly-edged leaves had sprouted up. She set it next to the box on the desk, bending down to examine it. 

“There’s a grow kit in the box, as well,” he said. “Comes with a lamp and some fertilizer, I think. We’ll have to order some more soil and some bigger pots, probably. I’m not sure how big they g—” 

He reeled backward as Autumn threw her arms around his neck, nearly bowling him over.  

“You got me a tomato plant!” Her voice sounded muffled against his body as she squeezed him in a tight hug.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward and he raised a hand, resting it on her back. He looked down at the top of her head, the tip of one of her dark brown braids tickling his neck.

“I’m guessing this means you like it?”

She pulled away from him, her eyes misty and red-rimmed now. “Garrus, this is the most thoughtful thing I’ve gotten in… well, maybe _ever_.”

“It’s just a plant, Shepard.” 

“It isn’t,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. She raised the other, poking a finger at his chest. “And you _know_ it isn’t, so don’t go making me feel like I’m being all emotional for nothing just so you can play modest about your present.” 

“Well,” he admitted, inclining his head to one side, “I _did_ have to scour three different wards to find one, and then fill out a bunch of paperwork to be able to transport it off-world, and sign a legal document promising not to introduce it to any other planets because of the risk of spreading pests and diseases, or something like that. So, you know… don’t plant it on that volcano we’re heading toward.” 

She laughed, nodding and bending down again to look at the little seedling. “I’ll take that under advisement.” 

“I almost got you just a regular old tomato. But then I thought, why get one when I could give you tomatoes whenever you want? You know, _eventually._ ”

“I’m sure they’ll be worth the wait,” she said, beaming at him. “Good things always are.” 

He looked into her eyes, finding himself wanting nothing more than to put his arms around her again and hold her close, to breathe in her scent and feel her warmth for another brief moment. But instead, he cleared his throat and shifted his gaze away. 

“I should probably go,” he said, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Let you get to know your plant.”

“Hang on,” she said, standing up again as Garrus made to leave. “I just realized something. I don’t think I’ve ever asked you when your birthday is.”

“Turians adopted the Galactic Standard calendar a long time ago, so our dates are different from yours. But I calculated it out once, and it would be around the first week of August in Terran Universal time.”

“You’re a Leo,” Shepard said with a smirk. “That explains a lot.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I’m going to assume it’s a high compliment,” he told her, stepping toward the door. “If it’s not, please don’t tell me. I’d like to hold on to my delusion. And for the record, if we survive long enough to celebrate it, I’d like a new gun cleaning kit. And a pedicure. Tromping around after you and wearing heavy boots all the time has been _murder_ on my talons.”

Autumn snorted as she watched him walk away. “Duly noted.” 

He paused in the doorway, looking back at her and letting his eyes linger on her for just a little longer than usual before turning toward the elevator.

“Good night, Shepard.”


	5. Examining Turian Culture and Customs, Part Two: Family Structure

_Given their reputation for strict, militaristic personalities, one may assume that turian families are somewhat cold and distant, lacking in both physical and emotional connection. This, however, is a gross misconception. The vast majority of family groups are incredibly close-knit, relying on one another for support as they navigate life’s challenges together._

_Turian couples typically mate for life, though in a somewhat looser sense than other species. Similar to humans, there is typically a period of exploration and courtship among young adults, trying out various partners before a pair chooses one another and settles down together._

_Union ceremonies known as aequus (pronounced “eye-koos”) are an important part of turian culture and are very much akin to marriage rites among humans. In addition to being a symbolic commitment to fidelity, the aequus also carries a legal standing that grants certain privileges to unified couples. In turian culture, members of any gender can enter together into an aequus, though currently it is still limited to two-member relationships on Palaven and in most of her colonies._  
  
_Around 80% of turian couples choose to have children, whether biologically or through adoption programs. The average is somewhere between 2-3 children per adult pair, with the largest recorded family to date having 29 children total, all born to a couple on Digeris._

_Turian children usually receive a public education until their mandatory enlistment at the age of 15. During this time, most form strong, lifelong bonds with their parents and siblings. Turian families know their time with one another can be short, depending on where one’s service takes them, so they make the most of the years they have together. Most turian parents are quite nurturing as a general rule, though they do tend to expect a certain level of accomplishment and integrity from their young ones, holding them to a high standard of performance in all areas of life._

_The average lifespan of a turian ranges from about 140-150 years. As with most species, the aging process takes a hefty toll, and many children find themselves caring for their senior family members as time marches on. However, after being raised in a culture where selflessly serving for the good of others comes as naturally as breathing, this hardly seems to feel like a burden to the average turian. On the contrary, most seem to view it as the least they can do to repay the many years their elders spent cultivating a loving family atmosphere in which they could thrive._

 

* * *

  
  
“...left a nasty bruise. She’s going to have a walloping headache when she finally wakes up again.”

“We never should have let her go in there alone.”

Autumn stirred, roused from a deep sleep by a muffled conversation that carried to her ears as if they were stuffed with cotton. Gradually, the words and voices became clearer as she surfaced fully into consciousness. 

Miranda’s derisive snort was unmistakable. “Come on, Vakarian. You know better than anyone that nobody ‘lets’ Commander Shepard do anything. Do you honestly think any of us could have stopped her?”

She opened her eyes, the brightness of the room stabbing painfully at them as the medical bay swam into focus. The soft, cool pillow against her cheek did nothing to soothe the pounding inside her head. Propping herself up on one elbow, she looked up at the figures standing nearby.

“Anybody ever told you two it’s rude to talk about someone like they’re not in the room?”

They both turned in surprise at the sound of her hoarse voice.

“Apologies, Commander,” Miranda said. “We thought you were still asleep.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Just over twenty-four hours,” Garrus told her, worry etched into his features as his pale eyes locked onto hers. He took a couple of long strides and knelt down next to the cot, bringing himself closer to her level. “How you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been beaten with a sack full of hammers.” She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms.

“I’m going to let Dr. Chakwas know you’re awake,” Miranda said, turning to head toward the door. “She told us to alert her if you came to.”

Autumn made as if to sit up fully, but Garrus put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Probably best if you keep horizontal for awhile,” he told her. “You’ve been through a hell of an ordeal.” 

“Everything feels fuzzy.” She grimaced, her mouth twisting around the dry sandpaper block that seemed to have replaced her tongue. 

“Yeah, Doc gave you something to help you sleep. Might be making you a little groggy still.” He reached toward a table next to her bed and retrieved a cup of water, bending a straw toward her mouth. Gratefully, she accepted a few long gulps before speaking again.

“The last thing I remember is standing at the map in the CIC when I got back from Aratoht. I felt lightheaded, and then… I woke up here.”

“You fainted,” he told her, letting her have a few more sips of water before replacing the cup. “Smacked your head on the podium. Most of us were still getting unstrapped from the relay jump when Chambers called over the intercom for the doctor. I was—we were all really worried. You were in and out for a little bit, couldn’t stay asleep. Nightmares, Chakwas said. Then she finally sedated you, and you’ve been out ever since.”

“What’s our mission status?”

Garrus smirked. “Even on your deathbed, huh?” he asked, shaking his head. “Everything’s on hold at the moment. Admiral Hackett is on his way to the ship. Supposed to be here in the morning to debrief you. Until then, Chakwas said we’re all supposed to let you rest.”

As if on cue, the door to the med bay slid open and they turned to see Dr. Chakwas crossing the room with Miranda right on her heels. The doctor opened a drawer near her desk, rummaging inside and pulling out a stethoscope and penlight. 

“Welcome back, Commander,” she said. Garrus moved out of the way to allow her to sit on the edge of the cot. She positioned the stethoscope into her ears as she spoke. “How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better,” Autumn admitted, watching as the doctor placed the bell against her shirt. She could feel the cold metal through the fabric as the doctor moved it from one spot to another. “Don’t you have a bunch of fancy electronic scanning equipment for that?”

“No matter how advanced medical technology gets, putting my eyes and ears on a patient will still be a valuable diagnostic tool. Now hush for a second so I can hear.”

The room fell quiet, only the gentle, steady hum of the ship’s engines and the occasional beep from a piece of equipment breaking the silence as Dr. Chakwas listened. Then she draped the stethoscope around her neck and clicked the penlight, aiming the beam onto her palm to check that it was functioning. Satisfied by the little glowing circle of warm light on her hand, she shined it into each of Autumn’s eyes, then sat back, tucking a strand of short, silver hair behind one ear.

“Everything sounds normal. Eyes are a little slow to contract, but with the sleep aid I gave you, that’s not unusual. Are you in any pain?”

“My whole body hurts. Kind of like I have the flu, that all-over achy feeling. And my head feels like it’s about to split open like an overripe melon.”

The doctor nodded, standing.

“You took quite a whack when you fell. I’ll get you something to help. In the meantime, you should continue to rest until Admiral Hackett’s arrival. I’m going to give you one more round of sedatives for dreamless sleep. Which means you two”—she gestured at Miranda and Garrus—“need to find somewhere else to be.”

Miranda obediently turned to leave, but Garrus stood where he was.

“Can I hang out for just a minute?” he asked. “I’d like to stay and talk to her.”

“That doesn’t sound very conducive to _resting_ ,” Chakwas replied, opening a cabinet and glancing down a line of bottles. She seemed to find what she was looking for and plucked two of them off the shelf, popping the tops open and shaking out a few tablets onto her palm.

“What if I promise to speak only in low, soothing tones?”

“The answer is _no_ , Vakarian.”

“You let me sit next to his cot the whole time he was recovering from Omega,” Autumn reminded her. Garrus turned to look at the commander with his brow plates raised, seeming surprised at this revelation.

“He was unconscious for most of that,” argued Chakwas. “And besides, you’re my commanding officer, I can hardly kick you out of anywhere on your own ship.”

“Does that mean I’m allowed to _order_ you to let him stay?” Autumn asked. There was a familiar note of playful humor in her voice, but the crew had all come to know that this didn’t necessarily mean their commander was joking.

Miranda let out a laugh and gestured toward her, looking at Garrus. “This is exactly what I'm talking about.”

Dr. Chakwas came over and dropped the pills into Autumn’s hand, passing her the glass of water again with a crooked smile and a sigh that was part amusement, part exasperation.

“Fine,” she said. “Garrus can stay. But only for thirty minutes, understood?”

“Yes, Mom,” said Autumn, giving the doctor a cheeky grin. Chakwas tutted at the pair of them as she walked toward the door with Miranda.

“Call me on the intercom if anything happens,” she told Garrus as she left. “And don’t you get her riled up.”

He turned back to Autumn as the doors hissed closed, grabbing a nearby chair and sliding it close to her cot.

“I didn’t know you sat with me while I was knocked out,” he said. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “It must have _killed_ you to be still for that long.”

“Well, ‘sat with you’ is more a figure of speech. I spent a lot of it pacing. Kind of surprised I didn’t wear a hole through the floor and fall right into Mordin’s lab, to be honest.” 

Garrus chuckled. “That sounds more like the Shepard I know.” He paused, fixing her with an earnest expression. “How are you feeling, really? Other than the physical stuff, I mean." 

Autumn slid her gaze away from his, remorse roiling in her gut like a slippery eel slithering endlessly over and around itself. “I’m not sure how to explain it,” she said. “I mean, how do you think _you'd_  feel if you’d just murdered a few hundred thousand people?”

Garrus seemed to ponder this for a moment before speaking. “I suppose that depends on whether I also saved the rest of the galaxy in the process. Because in that situation, I don’t see much of an alternative.” 

She shook her head, exhaling a loud breath from her nostrils. “It’s not that simple. Even after all the shit I’ve done over the years, the admiral has never gone out of his way to make a personal visit to my ship. I won’t be surprised if he’s been sent to court-martial me.”

“What?” he growled. “On what grounds? If he even tried, half this ship would be ready to space him.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

“Who says I’m joking?”

“Garrus, I'm being serious. The diplomatic implications of this whole sit—”

“Fuck politics!” interrupted Garrus, crossing his arms. “These are _Reapers_ we’re talking about. They saw what happened at the Citadel. What you did _had_ to be done! And you gave them as much warning as you could.”

Autumn took a deep breath, rolling back onto her pillow and squeezing the bridge of her nose with one hand. She wished her head would stop pounding, wished she could stop seeing that godforsaken map every time she closed her eyes, replaying the memory in her mind of all those colonies in the Bahak System winking out of existence one by one.

“The batarians won’t care,” she said quietly. “Hell, they’ll probably try to argue that it was retaliation.”

“Retaliation? For what?”

 _How easily everyone seems to forget,_ she thought to herself.  Perhaps it was because she so often avoided discussing the slaughter that had eventually led her to join the Alliance, but the details weren’t exactly a secret. It had been all the interplanetary broadcasts had talked about for weeks. 

“For what their slavers did to my family, and to everyone else on Mindoir.” 

He frowned. “They couldn’t possibly believe that. Just a few weeks ago, I watched you risk your life to save a sick batarian. You’re probably the least xenophobic person I know. You’re even nice to the _vorcha_ , for fuck’s sake. The ones who aren’t actively trying to kill us, at least.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not as though Citadel NewsNet has someone following me around, documenting my benevolence for all the galaxy to see. And we can’t forget whose flag this ship is flying. The batarians have no love for Cerberus.” 

“But _you’re_ _not_ Cerberus. The Illusive Man might think he has you in his pocket, but I know better. You’re your own woman, you always have been. And you’ve never been motivated by any kind of revenge for what happened to you on Mindoir.” 

A smirk tugged at one corner of her lips as she fixed her eyes on him again. “You’re building quite the testimony, Vakarian. You gonna fly down to Earth and be my character witness?”

“You’re damn right, I will.”

Her grin broadened, but the turian’s stern expression didn’t change. Something in him simmered somewhere just below the surface. She could feel it, like being too close to a campfire, teetering on the edge where the heat abruptly changes from a comforting warmth to an intolerable searing against your skin.

“Is something the matter?” she asked him, the smile fading from her lips. “You’re getting awfully worked up about a hypothetical.”

He leaned forward and rested his head in one of his palms, rubbing at his temples. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to overreact. I just want you to know that I—that we _all_ have your back, whatever happens.”

Autumn reached out and wrapped her fingers around his, pulling his hand away from his face. “Of course I know that. You always have, maybe moreso than anybody.”

“Yeah, but this time I didn’t even get the chance. All I could do was sit up here and wait for news. And then the comms were silent for two days and I thought…” He trailed off, avoiding her eye. “I’m tired of being powerless when the people I care about are in trouble. I just want something I do to make a difference for once.”  
  
“Garrus, how can you say that after everything we’ve accomplished?” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I sidelined you. Hackett made me swear I wouldn’t bring in a whole team. He was concerned that it would spook the batarians into killing Kenson. He had no idea what was really going on down there. But I didn’t mean to make you feel helpless, or like I didn’t want you backing me up. There’s nobody on this ship I trust more than you. Hell, maybe even in the whole _galaxy_.”

He looked back at her again. “You don’t owe me an apology, Shepard. I know you had your reasons. It’s not you I’m upset with.”

It wasn’t anger, she realized, this thing she felt radiating from him. It was self-reproach.  
  
“This isn’t just about the mission on Aratoht, is it?” she asked softly.

“No.” His gaze trailed down to his hand, which Autumn was still holding. She thought for a moment that he might pull away, but instead he folded his fingers around hers, gripping her tighter. “I ever tell you much about my parents?”

“Just your dad. I know he used to be C-Sec, and that he wasn’t too pleased when you resigned.”

He huffed a laugh at this, though there was no humor in his expression. “That’s an understatement. But we made up, sort of. I was actually on a call with him on Omega when you showed up. Soon as this mess with the Collectors is all sorted out, we’ll pick up where we left off. Mom, though…” A sad smile crossed his face. “If my dad is the braun, she was the brains. During her enlistment, she was a tech expert. Worked on engineering omni-tools and developing decryption software, that sort of thing. After she was discharged, they had me and then my sister. She held the fort at home while my dad worked on the Citadel. But she still did some consulting here and there, and she was always tinkering. Our flat was constantly littered with bits of wire, circuit boards and old monitors. Some people put together a puzzle or paint pictures when they’re bored. My mom built computers from scratch. She had a brilliant mind.”

“I can’t help but notice you’re saying all of this in the past tense,” Autumn said. “Did she…?”

“Die? No. She’s still alive. But she’s been diagnosed with something called Corpalis Syndrome. It’s a turian disease. Causes your neurological functions to slowly decay.” He paused, his head hanging so low that his chin nearly touched his chest now. “There are days where she doesn’t even recognize my sister anymore. Solana says the treatments they’re giving her aren’t doing much. They may have to move her to Sur’Kesh. But none of it is covered, and the salarians’ price tag is insane.”

“Oh, Garrus.” She squeezed his hand, and he turned away from her, as though he was afraid that he might not be able to keep it together if he looked her in the eye.

“Yeah.” His voice sounded thick. “It’s bad.” 

“How can I help?” she asked, struggling weakly to sit upright against the increasing gravitational pull of her sedatives. The room suddenly seemed to tilt, and her lips began to tingle. It was a little like being drunk, but without any of the fun. She felt herself sway, and then his strong hand was on her shoulder once more, gently urging her back down. 

“You can stop trying to get up, for one,” he told her. “Toppling out of bed and knocking yourself senseless again won’t do anyone any favors.”

“Seriously, though,” she pressed, resigning herself once again to lie back on the pillow. “There has to be something we can do.”

“Convince Cerberus to give me a better salary?” He gave her a smirk, clearly kidding, but Autumn nodded without hesitation. 

“Done. And if they won’t, I’ll give you the credits myself.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You wanna fight about it?”

He let out a soft chuckle at this. “Even if you are sedated, I still wouldn’t bet on myself in that scenario.”

“What about Mordin?”

“Oh, you could _definitely_ take Mordin.”

She reached out and punched him playfully on the arm. “No, dingus. I mean this thing with your mom. Maybe he could help, talk to these doctors on Sur’Kesh, pull some strings.”

“I don’t know. I’d be surprised if he even knows any of them.”

“Probably not, but between his work with the plague and now with the Collectors, plus his connections to the STG, there’s got to be something he has access to that could help them. We scratch their back, they scratch ours.”

Garrus raised one of his brow plates. “The Illusive Man wouldn’t be too happy to know you were so willing to part with valuable intel on the Collectors, which you gathered with Cerberus resources. Especially if it’s just to help some turian vigilante’s sick mother.”

“You gonna tell on me?” 

This, combined with her defiant expression, finally seemed to break up the storm cloud that had been hovering over him. His face split into a smile, though he couldn’t help shaking his head at her. “‘Do The Right Thing, No Matter What.’ There’d be hell to pay if we’re caught, though.”  
  
“That’s for Future Shepard to worry about,” she said, waving a hand at him. “Now Shepard is tired and wants a blankie and a nap.”

Reaching down to the end of the bed, he pulled a thick cover up and over her, tucking it around her shoulders. She hunkered down, snuggling into its warmth. 

“I mean it, though. Talk to Mordin. Tell him I'll give him whatever latitude he needs to get it done.” 

“I will,” he promised, leaning back in his chair. “But that can wait a bit. For now, you just go ahead and rest.”

“What about you?” She yawned, mouth stretching wide as the room began to blur, like a mirror fogged with steam from a hot shower.

“I’ll be right here waiting when you wake up.”  
  
“Chakwas said only thirty minutes.”

“Does _she_ wanna fight about it?”

“See, Garrus?” she asked with a smile, eyelids pulling themselves down like anchors as she felt herself slipping comfortably into slumber. “You always have my back.”


	6. Examining Turian Culture and Customs, Part Three: Spirituality

_Turian religion has undergone a long and interesting evolution throughout history. The ancient inhabitants of Palaven believed in supernatural beings they called the Titans, giants who communicated with the turians through a special temple on their homeworld. The Titans even had their own order of devoted monks known as the Valluvian Priests, who shrouded themselves in purple robes and an air of mystery, only allowing the most valiant and pious into their ranks._ _As the turians discovered other civilizations, however, their dependency on these myths began to wane as they learned that they didn’t need the favor of the Titans in order to achieve greatness, and the temple was sealed, leaving the Valluvian Order to fade into the mists of history._

_Modern turians have religious beliefs that span the full spectrum of intergalactic cultures, from human sects like Confucianism and Buddhism to the asarian siarist belief system. A few have even been known to worship the many gods of the volus pantheon. Still others are atheists, preferring to place their faith in the fellow sons and daughters of Palaven rather than a faceless deity._

_Regardless of their belief in a higher power, most turians do still ascribe to an ancient and pervasive belief in spirits, with each representing the abstract embodiment of an aggregate group, as opposed to believing in the spirits of individuals as is often seen in other religions. This is unsurprising given their cultural de-emphasis on the self in favor of the collective. The spirits do not seem to be regarded as having a fundamentally good or bad nature and are rather seen as a transcendental essence of the qualities embodied by the collective it represents._

_Turians will sometimes pray to these spirits, though not for intervention into mundane affairs as other species often do. When a turian appeals to a spirit, it is most often done in order to gain insight or guidance in the hope that the spirit can connect to something deeper within them and allow them to manifest its virtues to achieve their goal. However, many turians have fallen away from this practice and reckon that anyone who does attempt to communicate is likey to have a one-sided conversation._

_In terms of an afterlife, most do seem to believe in some kind of existence after death, whether through reincarnation or the ascendance of a soul. Many also believe in some concept of heaven or hell, though the answer to the question of who decides which soul belongs where is one there seems to be little consensus upon._

 

* * *

 

The low lights of the main battery cast a faint red glow over Garrus’s face as he stood at the terminal in front of the ship’s heavy artillery. 

He liked it here. It was quiet. Not so silent that the absence of sound becomes a distraction all on it’s own—the low hum of the engines and the soft, steady buzzing of the charging mechanisms on the weaponry provided a comforting soundtrack for the many solitary hours he spent here—but enough that it made for a nice environment when he needed some space to think.

His fingers moved over the keyboard of the terminal as he squinted at the display, trying to force his mind to stay on task as he worked. It was a little like meditation, he supposed, calibrating guns—a way to try to push other, less helpful thoughts away and focus on the present.

And, much like the practice of emptying one’s mind to meditate, it was easier said than done.

The door to the hallway behind him hissed, and he could tell right away from the pattern of the footfalls against the steel floor that it was Autumn. She paused, perhaps waiting for him to acknowledge her, then cleared her throat.

“Do you have a minute to talk, Garrus?” Her voice sounded quiet and uncharacteristically timid. In spite of his anger with her at the moment, it still pained him to hear her talk that way, especially toward him.

“Can it wait for a bit?” he asked in a gruff tone, without looking up. “I’m in the middle of some calibrations.”

There was a pause, and then that quiet voice of hers again. “The guns will still be there when we’re done.”

His shoulders slumped as he dropped his arms to his sides, closing his eyes in irritation.

“Fine,” he said, turning toward her. “What is it?” 

She was standing with an arm folded across her chest, chewing on one of her thumbnails. Searching his face, she shifted her weight back and forth, as though she wanted to pace around like a nervous cat but was finding some way to compensate in the cramped space.

 _Damn it._ Why did she have to look at him like that, like she was worried he was primed to explode at the slightest nudge? He just wanted to be properly angry at her, but it was becoming harder by the second. 

She let her hand fall away from her mouth. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about Sidonis yet, but that was a couple of days ago and I thought… I thought maybe you’d be ready.” 

“I’m not sure, Shepard,” he said. His mandibles flared. “I’m still kind of pissed off at you, to be honest. We went in there with a plan— _my_ plan—and you changed it on me at the last second. I know how you felt about the situation, but that wasn’t your mission to lead.”

“I understand why you’re upset. But if I hadn’t stepped in— _twice_ —Harkin and Sidonis would both have been shot. And that would have been on my conscience, too.”

“Maybe I should just leave you out of it in the future, then. We wouldn’t want to tarnish that sterling reputation of yours.”

Her brow furrowed, and he watched as her lips turned down into an angry frown. 

“You think that’s what it was about? My _reputation?_ That’s insulting, Vakarian. It wasn’t that long ago you were standing in the Presidium with me, teasing me about my moral code. You think maybe _that_ might have more to do with it?” He looked away from her, and she pressed on, putting a hand on her hip. “Listen, we’ve all had to do some pretty messed up stuff in the past few years. And heaven knows my own body count is higher than probably anybody else on this ship, but I have to live with my choices at the end of the day, and so do you. I was trying to make sure you didn’t make a decision we'd both regret.”

“I’d have slept just fine that night.” 

She narrowed her mismatched eyes at him. “Bullshit. I do not, for one single _second_ , believe that's true.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Garrus asked, his tone defiant as he ground his teeth. “You don’t know _half_ the shit I did after you—" He cut himself off, unable to make his mouth form the word. "When you were gone.”

“I know you did enough to make yourself number one on every merc gang’s most wanted list.” She cocked her head to one side. “But I also know the people of Omega called you an angel. An _archangel_. Do you have enough context of human religion to even really know what that means?”

“I don’t know, some kind of altruistic spirit,” he said, waving a hand.

“That’s like saying Tali’s good with computers,” replied Autumn, the shadow of a smirk on her lips. “It’s not wrong, but you’re grossly underselling it.”

“Meaning?”

“Christianity is complicated, but I’ll try to give you the nutshell version. On one side, the good side, you’ve got this benevolent God ruling over heaven. On the bad side, you’ve got Lucifer, the Devil. Both sides have armies. Lucifer's got demons, God has his angels. And the archangels are like the commanding officers—the best of the best, the physical embodiment of righteousness and virtue. _That_ is who they named you for.”

“So? Some desperate people adopted me as their savior because I did a few good deeds.”

“What’s _that_ like?” she asked, giving him a cutting sort of look. “My point is, those people knew what _I_ know: that Garrus Vakarian may be flawed, but that he’s fundamentally on the right side of things. The kind of guy who might break a few kneecaps, but only in the name of justice. The sort of man who’ll buy you ice cream on a bad day, or scour the wards for hours just to give a girl a tomato plant.”

She crossed to him then, moving her face intentionally into his line of sight, her gaze commanding that he not look away.

“I’ve seen you kill scores of people who stood between us and our mission, maybe even _hundreds_ at this point. I know you’re no saint. But watching you beat the shit out of Harkin, threaten to _shoot_ him after he’d already given us what you wanted? Hearing you tell me that you weren’t even going to _consider_ listening to Sidonis before you put a bullet in his brain? That was the only time I’ve ever been afraid of you, Garrus. And you know I don’t scare easy.” 

He swallowed, feeling a squirming shame in the pit of his stomach as he watched her eyes flit between his.

“You’ve followed me to the end of the galaxy," she continued. "You’ve put yourself between me and the enemy more times than I can count. But yesterday was the first time I’ve ever felt like maybe I couldn’t trust you after all. Because that person I saw setting up his rifle, fixing Sidonis in his sights? That wasn’t you. That wasn’t the Garrus I know.” 

She paused, and he felt her fingers brushing against his hand, wrapping themselves around his palm. 

“The Garrus I know is the one who _didn’t_ take that shot, even when he could have. The one who ultimately saw a man who was already dead, who had already punished himself a million times over for the deaths of your friends, and let him walk away. _That’s_ who I was trying to save, not Sidonis. And you can be pissed off at me all you want, but I’d do it all over again tomorrow, even if it meant suffering your glares and your silence and your cold shoulder for the rest of my life.” 

He bowed his head, his mandibles working as he struggled to find words. Finally, he looked up again, meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” He could feel the steady pulse of her heartbeat transferring from her fingertips to his. She couldn’t possibly know how painful it had been to hear her say that. The one person he’d do anything to protect, afraid of him… He drew a breath, struggling against the vice that had clamped itself around his chest at her words. “I’ve never been a religious person, by and large. I believe in the spirits,  but they don’t provide any sort of ethical rulebook. My whole life, I’ve tried to base my choices on what I thought was the right thing to do, only to find out a lot of the time that I had been misguided. Then I met you. I’d never seen anyone who seemed so certain about right and wrong. It wasn’t intentional, but I think you became my moral compass. And then...”

“And then I died.” 

The word jarred him, dropping like a brick into his gut. She always said it so casually, a simple statement of fact, a piece of their shared history he could hardly bring himself to remember most days, let alone articulate.

He nodded. “Even then, I tried to imagine how you’d respond to a given situation. 'What would Shepard do?' became my mantra. I definitely got it wrong sometimes. But I managed to scrape together a team to try to clean up Omega, and I tried to be the kind of leader I’d once looked up to. I put my trust in my men, and they put their trust in me. Turns out I had faith in the wrong one, though, and he cost the rest their lives.”

“You can’t keep putting that on yourself, Garrus. That could have happened to anyone. The choice to betray the team was his, and _only_ his.”

“I know that,” he replied. “But there’s this overwhelming feeling of responsibility when you’re leading a team, making sure you’re doing what you can to keep them safe without sacrificing the mission. Any failure feels like _your_ failure.”

The corner of Autumn’s mouth quirked upward again, and Garrus gave her an apologetic look in return.

“I realize I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” he said. “But after Sidonis betrayed us, I became even less sure that I could make the right decisions on my own. When you were talking to me in the shuttle on the way there that day, trying to convince me that there was a better way, I think part of me knew you were right. But I’d grown so used to doubting myself that I couldn’t separate that from my overwhelming need to avenge my men.”

“Your men _do_ deserve justice, Garrus. But killing Sidonis... that just wasn’t the way.”

“No,” he said softly. “It wasn't. Thanks for stalling me. And I’m sorry for treating you like shit for the past couple of days for it. I don’t think I realized until you were gone just how much I—” _Needed you._  His brain finished the sentence for him automatically, and he had to make a conscious effort to filter the thought before he blurted it out. “...How much I looked to you for guidance on these things. It’s so much easier to see the world in black and white. Gray… I don’t know what to do with gray.”

“You _do_ , though. If you didn’t, you’d have taken the shot.” He felt her fingers give a gentle squeeze. 

“This god of yours… is he where you get your moral guidance? If so, maybe I should look into his work.”

At this, Autumn chuckled.

“No,” she told him, shaking her head. “My parents were Christians. Before they decided to look for adventure in the colonies, they grew up in a little town called Hope, Kansas. It’s one of the last truly rural spots on Earth. Hard to be from there and not have religion. So they raised us in it, too. My first Christmas, they got me a Bible, a holy book engraved with my name. I still have it. One of the few things I took with me when the Alliance pulled me off Mindoir. But I haven’t cracked it open since that day. I sort of lost any taste for dogma after that. Plenty of good and evil to contend with right here without worrying about the supernatural kind on top of it. Plus, if I’m being honest, even God makes some pretty questionable decisions.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. At one point in the story, he throws a bit of a temper tantrum and drowns the entire planet.”

Garrus raised his brow plates. “That’s… concerning.” 

Autumn laughed, and seeing the little crinkles form in the corners of her eyes as she smiled seemed to relieve some of the tightness in his lungs.

“Anyway,” she said, “if you’re looking for someone to put your faith in, I have a good idea where you can start.” She raised her hand and tapped him on the chest.

“This is turning into a scene from a bad romantic comedy.” He smirked at her, and her hand came up again, this time to give him a playful shove as she rolled her eyes. 

“Shut up, Vakarian, I’m being serious.” She gave him that searching look again, the kind that always made him feel naked and vulnerable, like he was being x-rayed. “You’ve always done just fine. Before me, _without_ me. You don’t need anyone else to tell you what’s right. You just need to listen to yourself, trust that voice.” 

He made a low humming sound, still not feeling quite convinced but not really knowing what else to say. He’d always put so much stock in her confidence. If _she_ could be that sure of him, maybe he could start to forgive himself. But it would take time. There were still too many memories, too many ghosts to contend with first.

“By the way," she said, interrupting his thoughts, "EDI says Sidonis turned himself into C-Sec. Said he was responsible for the murders of your crew. Bailey’s still got him in custody until they figure out what to do with him, since there’s nobody on Omega to turn him over to. But he did the right thing in the end, too. I thought you would want to know.” She paused, then asked, “Will you be okay, Garrus?”

“Yeah,” he replied, looking away and running a hand over the back of his neck. “I just… I think I could use some time to myself for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” she said, letting her fingers slide out from between his. “If you decide you want to talk, just say the word.”

Before she made it to the door, he called after her. “Hey, Shepard?” He watched as she stopped, looking over her shoulder. “Thanks. For everything.”

She smiled at him, giving a little nod, and he turned back toward the terminal as the door hissed again, leaving him alone in his sanctuary, only the quiet ambient sounds of the ship to keep him company once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter diverges a little bit from canon--after Garrus's loyalty mission, Autumn chooses not to press him after he says he isn't ready to discuss the matter yet. This is followed by two days of him stewing over everything before she finally decides to come to him and see if he's ready to talk. I felt like the in-game conversation had Garrus agreeing with her just a little too readily, and I also felt like my Shepard would be the type to give him the space and time he needed to process such a major event.


	7. Biological Compatibility

_One of the most common concerns for a budding human-turian romance is the question of whether or not our species are compatible—and not just on an emotional level. The answer is somewhat more complicated than a simple “yes” or “no.” While our anatomies are similar enough to be capable of mutually enjoyable sexual experiences, our differing physiologies cause challenges in other areas._

_Most of our human readers will already know that turians are a dextro-protein based lifeform, as opposed to the more common levo-protein that makes up the building blocks for most other sentient species in the galaxy. In fact, the only other species known to be dextro-based are the quarians. But what does that mean, exactly?_

_Well, in the biological sense, it is a simple variance in the way our DNA forms its chains. If you are familiar with Latin terms, you may already have spotted a clue as to how this manifests: levo is the latin word for “left,” whereas dextro means "right." In levo-protein DNA strands, the curve of the helix spirals in a counterclockwise direction, or to the left. In dextro-protein DNA, it is just the opposite, with the helix spiraling to the right in a clockwise direction._

_One wouldn’t imagine that such a small difference in the structure of our proteins would cause as much trouble as it does, but introducing a levo-based protein into a dextro-based lifeform’s system can cause serious problems, and vise-versa._

_You have probably already seen that your turian friends cannot eat many of the same foods we do. For some, the food from the opposite protein group will simply pass through the digestive system without providing any nutrition, but for many, a serious allergic reaction can occur._

_The same can happen in the case of ingestion of bodily fluids containing the antithetical protein.  These reactions can be anything from severe gastric upset to anaphylaxis and respiratory arrest, so it is the recommendation of the Citadel Council’s Ministry of Galactic Health that any individuals engaging in sexual activities with a member of an opposing protein group use barrier methods like condoms to minimize mucus membrane contact and lower the risk of complications. While simple skin contact with fluids doesn’t tend to be a problem, some couples may find that they are more comfortable erring on the side of safety with gloves, dental dams, and other means of protection._  
_  
The other issue regarding compatibility that comes up often is the question of reproduction. Given what has already been discussed, it will probably come as no surprise that humans and turians are unable to create offspring together at this point in time._

_For some couples, this news comes as a relief—it means that contraception is one less thing to worry about. For others, however, it can be devastating._

_“She’s always wanted kids,” says Wesley, a 31-year-old communications specialist. He’s referring to his wife, Floria, a turian schoolteacher in the Citadel’s Zakera Ward. “And so have I, even more so now that we’ve found one another. She’s so great with children, and I know she would be an amazing mother. It hurts to know we may never get to have the same experience that couples of the same race so easily take for granted. But we’re holding out hope.”_

_Hope for couples like Welsey and Floria comes in the form of technology. Salarian scientists on Sur’Kesh are reportedly in the very early stages of exploring medical procedures that would allow incompatible species to produce viable offspring through a combination of their DNA patterns, basing much of their research on asari parthenogenesis. However, given the extensive amount of study and testing that would need to be completed before these procedures became widely available, conservative estimates say that we are at least ten years away from seeing the fruits of the scientists’ labor._

_In the meantime, many couples find that adoption can fill the void, allowing them to care for and nurture children of any species in their loving homes. Meredith and Lanitus are one such pair._

_“It was just such an obvious choice for us,” Lanitus told us in his survey response. “We both knew we wanted children, and we weren’t willing to wait around for science to make it possible for them to be ours, biologically. Especially not with so many kids out there who already needed a family.”_

_Meredith had this to say: “We have one of each, a little turian girl named Eliana, and a human boy named Marco. It was the best decision we ever made. I may not have given birth to them, but they are no less ours. It’s love, not DNA, that makes a family.”_

 

* * *

  
  
“So there we are, enjoying a few drinks with our friends,” Thane said. He paused, lifting a glass of water to his lips and taking a sip before he continued. “And then in walks Kolyat. He was very young still, barely more than a baby. Maybe three solar years, give or take.” 

The crew was in the middle of dinner, seated around the largest table in the mess hall, listening to his story. Most of them were partway through devouring a plate of stroganoff, save for Tali, who chose to eat her food in her quarters before coming to the table—something about “not being a very dignified process to watch”—and Garrus, who had finally gotten a delivery of turian-friendly MRE packets. He was currently eating something that looked a little like meatloaf, along with a dollop of mashed tubers and a pile of what appeared to be a bean of some sort.

“Apparently,” continued Thane, “the little scamp had snuck out of his room and into ours, and he’d gotten into Irikah’s things.” His eyes dilated a little as he slipped into the memory. “ _A giggle from the stairs. He wobbles, unsteady. Nude except for a pair of overlarge, heeled boots, face a kaleidoscope of colors. Lips stained orange, eyelids painted blue—his mother’s best cosmetics_.”

There was a burst of laughter as they all imagined a tiny Kolyat, stark naked and covered in makeup, waddling into the midst of his parents’ party. Even Jack cracked a smile around her fork.

Miranda let out a sigh interrupted by a giggle as she swiped a finger under her eye, wiping away a tear of mirth. “God,” she said, shaking her head. “Kids are such troublemakers.”

“You have no idea,” Samara said with a knowing smirk.

“Yeah, but don’t you want, like, an entire fucking litter of them?” asked Jack, wrinkling her nose.

“I don’t know about _that_ ,” Miranda replied. “But yes, I’d like to have kids. Wouldn’t you?”

Jack looked at her like she’d just suggested leaping out of the airlock. “I seem like the maternal type to you, Cheerleader?”

“Not remotely, but that’s never held anyone else back.”

“I’m just gonna stop this fight before it begins,” Autumn cut in, drawing an invisible boundary line across the table with one finger. "No more talking to one another until further notice."

“She started it," Jack said in a defensive tone.

Miranda opened her mouth as though she was about to retort, but Jacob interrupted, gesturing at Autumn.

 “What about you? There gonna be any little Shepards running around the galaxy someday?”

The question caught her off-guard. She blinked and then glanced around, trying to come up with an answer to something she’d barely even considered before—at least, not for a very long time. Garrus gave her a soft, approving sort of look that she found thoroughly unhelpful. It made her feel hot and flustered. She forced a quiet chuckle, hoping it sounded halfway genuine. “I think I have my hands full with you lot at the moment.”

Joker smirked at her, gesturing down the table. “What better training for parenthood than directing a ship full of idiots?” 

She really _did_ laugh at this, along with most of the others. 

“I think you’d be a very good mother,” said Kasumi, giving her a warm smile as her eyes twinkled from beneath her hood. “Loving and fun, but just tough enough to whip them into shape when they’re being little monsters.”

“Well, let’s see if we survive long enough to defeat the Collectors, and then maybe I’ll think about it.”

Garrus flared his mandibles, still giving her that look as he silently chewed a bite of food. She glanced away, catching Mordin’s eye instead. He had a strange expression on his face—worry? Sadness? She couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it only lasted for a fleeting moment before he dove back into his food, avoiding her gaze.

The remainder of the meal passed pleasantly enough, with the crew making small talk and sharing more stories while Autumn struggled to keep her thoughts from automatically straying toward the next mission. She’d always done her best not to talk shop at meals, recognizing that her team needed this time for a little distraction and camaraderie, but managing her own constant internal stream of planning and strategy was much more difficult. 

By the time the rest of the crew started clearing away their trays, she had already mentally composed her inventory checklist for their next task—securing the Reaper IFF device for the Omega-4 relay. She was halfway through workshopping different strike team possibilities and corresponding weapon loadouts when the salarian’s voice brought her back to the present.

“Shepard, a word if you’re finished?”

She blinked and looked down at her plate. More than half of the pile of beef and noodles was still sitting there, now stone-cold in its puddle of congealed sauce and mushrooms. “Oh. Yeah, I’m done. What’s up?”

“Better to talk in my lab.”

“You go on,” Garrus offered, taking Autumn’s tray. “I’ll get this for you.”

She gave him a hasty thanks and then followed after Mordin, struggling to keep up with his quick footsteps. He stayed silent as he hailed the elevator.

“Mordin, what’s this about?” she asked with a frown as they stepped onto the platform. 

“Tell you when we get there," he replied in a clipped tone. "Privacy concerns.” 

As soon as the door was open, he strode out and toward the ship’s tech lab. It was very bright inside, and if you’d asked Autumn what half the equipment was for, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. She liked it here, though. Mordin kept his workspace neat as a new pin and meticulously organized, and in that she felt a kinship with her ship’s chief scientist. 

“What’s up?” she asked as the door to the lab closed behind them.

He began pacing—another trait they shared—and she watched him dart back and forth, shooting glances in her direction.

“The topic of discussion at dinner—children. Wanted to discuss further. Don’t know if Chakwas has had a conversation with you…” He trailed off, looking up at her.

Autumn shook her head. “No, we’ve never talked about children. I’m not even sure if she _has_ any. Why? What’s she got to do with it?”

He inhaled deeply before plowing on. “Lazarus Project used unprecedented medical technology. Piecing a human being back together, rekindling the spark of life—no easy feat. Involved dozens of surgical procedures, cybernetic implantations.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, furrowing her brow. “And?”

“Long-term implications unknown. No other test subjects to compare data. However, cybernetic implants giving off constant low-level radiation. Some impact on internal organs to be expected.” He glanced away from her again. “How to phrase? Don’t want to sound cold, insensitive.”

“Mordin, just tell me what you brought me here to say. Watching you try to spit it out is probably worse than whatever you’re about to tell me.”  
  
“Too many factors to say for sure, but with my knowledge on reproduction, given medical history…” He drew in a sharp breath, willing himself to look her in the eye. “Chances for infertility, miscarriage, defects…stillbirth... _astronomically_  high.”

There was a long moment of silence. Autumn felt as though the room was closing in on her, or perhaps it was expanding into infinite space, leaving her no larger or more significant than a gnat. Mordin said something else, but it sounded to her ears as though his voice was traveling to her underwater, distorted and unintelligible.

She blinked. Suddenly the brightness of the room felt blinding. 

“What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “That last thing you said, I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

He was wringing his hands now, his worried eyes fixed on her.

“Was just saying... know you said you weren’t even sure you wanted offspring, but all the same. Had to tell you. Couldn’t let you go on without knowing. Apologies if overstepping.” 

“No, Mordin,” she said, shaking her head. She put a hand up, tugging anxiously at one of her braids. “Not at all. I appreciate you saying something.”

“Not remotely trained in any kind of psychological counseling. Yeoman Chambers infinitely more qualified. But if you wanted to talk… to a friend…”

She attempted a small smile, tucking her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt to keep herself from fidgeting even more. “Thanks,” she told him. “I’m, uh… I think I’m gonna go someplace quiet for a while. I need some time alone. To process.”

“Of course. Understandable. Will be here if you need me.”

She could feel his large, soulful eyes following her out the door. Making a beeline for the elevator, she avoided making eye contact with any of the crew members as she passed, giving silent nods of acknowledgement when spoken to but otherwise refusing to engage. She felt certain that if she opened her mouth to speak she’d burst into tears or vomit. Perhaps both.

There had been a tree on the farm on Mindoir that her father had grown from a tiny black seed, planted there just a few days after they’d arrived in the colony. By the time Autumn was old enough to climb, it had grown to huge proportions, thanks no doubt to the extensive genetic modifications that had been made to Earth's seeds several decades past.

Seasons on Mindoir were different from Earth, fluctuating from temperate to blistering hot and back again without any real winter in between. When it was warm, the tree would erupt into beautiful white blossoms. In the cooler months, its limbs would droop with the weight of dozens of apples. Whatever the climate, if she was upset, odds were good you could find Autumn tucked up in its branches, finding refuge from the world inside its cool, shady canopy. Her father had christened it her Thinking Tree.

A sudden longing overtook her as she stepped back into the elevator—to be back at the farm, stretching her legs along the rough bark of one of its branches, feeling a cool breeze move through the leaves carrying the scent of crisp, sweet apples warmed by the planet’s dual suns. She bit back tears, wondering if that tree was even still standing, or if it had burned with the rest of the farm the day the batarians came.

There was no tree to hide in here on the Normandy. Instead, she punched the button that would take her to her quarters. At least there it would be quiet, and she could find a way to wrap her mind around the immensity of this new information.

She hadn’t been there for more than half an hour when someone rapped their knuckles against her steel door. Tossing aside the pillow she’d been hugging to her chest, she crossed the room. 

“Who is it?” she called, wiping her cheeks.

“It’s Blasto, intergalactic superstar and the first ever jellyfish Spectre.”

Autumn huffed a laugh in spite of her tears, unsure whether Garrus’s timing was perfect or terrible. She opened the door, revealing the turian standing in his pajama pants and a Cerberus t-shirt, eyes focused on his datapad.

“Nice shirt,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, well, it was free. Listen, I know you’re probably neck-deep in plans for the IFF run because that’s the sort of thing that qualifies as ‘dessert’ to you, but if you’ve got a minute, I had some questions about the new weapon upgrades.”

He looked up, taking in Autumn’s puffy, red eyes, and paused with his hand hovering over the screen of his tablet.

“Hey,” he said in a softer voice, “you okay?”

“Not really, no.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

She considered this. Yes, she _did_ want to talk about it. And it wasn’t like it was the first time Garrus would have seen her cry. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time this _month_. Still, it was a very personal thing. Not that she didn’t trust him, of course. Quite the opposite. But she sometimes wondered where she should be drawing the line between her role as his commanding officer and her status as his friend. Or… _whatever_  this was turning into. Given recent conversations, the line was starting to blur more and more each day.

Stepping aside, she gestured at the interior of her cabin. Garrus stepped in, allowing the door to close behind him before he asked, “What’s going on?”

She motioned him toward the little sofa in the corner of the room. He took a seat, sitting forward and leaning his elbows on his knees as she flopped down next to him and slumped sideways against the cushioned back.

“Does this have something to do with whatever Mordin wanted to talk about?” he asked, and she nodded, picking at the corner of a throw pillow she’d grabbed to busy her fingers with. “Do you want to tell me what it was?”

She drew a deep breath. “He was listening to the conversation at dinner and he told me that with my medical history, all the surgeries and implants and things”—she could feel her lip trembling and swallowed hard, trying to will herself not to dissolve into a sobbing mess—“he says there’s a very good chance I won’t be able to conceive. And if I do get pregnant, it won’t…” She trailed off, ending the sentence with a defeated shrug.

“Damn, Shepard,” he said, his gaze softening as his mandibles drooped into a frown. “I’m sorry. That’s a tough blow to take.”

“I mean, I don’t even know for sure whether I _want_ kids, to be honest. I’ve barely had time to think about it. It seems like my life has just been one crisis after another, and having babies has been the last thing on my mind. But there’s still something awful about knowing that the choice has probably been stolen from me… It just _hurts_. More than I ever would have thought.”

“Well, on top of finding out you might not be able to have kids, which is hard enough, you’re also the sort of woman who values her autonomy. You like to know that things are within your control. Having that taken away is a special kind of frustration for you. I’ve seen it before.”

She nodded.

“But he did say ‘probably,’ right?” asked Garrus. “So there’s still a chance—" 

“Please don’t,” she said, turning to him. “Don’t put that in my head. If I go on thinking that, I’ll just end up disappointed if I try and I can’t. And even if I _could_ get pregnant, he mentioned defects and… and worse. I can’t risk that. It’d be selfish.”

He gave her a pitying look and let out a soft sigh. “I’m really sorry, Shepard.”

She was quiet for a moment, still fiddling with the cushion between her hands. Then she looked up at him again. “I was pregnant once before. Early on in my N7 training days.”

It was obvious he was trying to conceal his surprise. Trying, and failing. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him raise his brow plates that high.

“Oh,” he said, an attempt at a casual tone. “I… didn’t know that.” 

“Nobody does. Nobody else on the Normandy, anyway. Just the doctors in Rio who treated me.”

“You’ve never told anybody else?” 

She shrugged. “It was never relevant. ...Actually, now that I think about it, Chakwas might know. It’s probably in my records. But it’s never come up.”

“What happened?” he asked, then abruptly added, “Only if you want to talk about it, of course.”

“It was just a fling, another soldier in training with me. A momentary distraction. You know… ‘blowing off steam.’” She gave him a pointed look, and he offered a tiny smirk in return. That’s what they had been calling it, flirting with the idea over the past few days. Flirting with _each other_. She redirected her mind to the topic at hand and went on. “Anyway, we weren’t as careful as we should have been. By the time I found out, I was only a few weeks along, and I opted to terminate the pregnancy.”

She said this in a tone devoid of any shame, but not without a touch of regret. 

“I just keep thinking now,” she continued, “what if I squandered my only chance? What if that was it?”

Garrus looked at her—an earnest sort of gaze, but soft around the edges. “You can’t think like that,” he told her. “You made the decision because that’s what was best for you at the time. It was that or quit your N7 training. And it doesn’t sound like you felt ready to have a child, anyway.”

“Not by a long shot. I was still dealing with the trauma from Mindoir. Hell, I still _am_. Maybe I’d be a shitty parent anyway, even now.”

“Now _that_ ,” he said, pointing a finger, “is bullshit. If you want to be a mother someday, there are still ways. And you’d be a damn good one.”

She quirked a brow. “You’re saying this like you've given it some thought.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well. Maybe I have.”

The corner of her mouth lifted a little, and she looked down at her pillow.

“There was this tree we had, back on Mindoir. First seed my dad planted there when they arrived. It was enormous, and it gave the _best_ apples—juicy and sweet, as big as your fist.” She paused, glancing at one of Garrus’s hands. “Well, maybe not _your_ fist, but a human one, anyway. I used to go climb up that tree to hide when the world felt like too much to bear. It was usually stupid kid stuff, of course. Some boy I liked at school didn’t like me back, my older brothers were being jerks, things like that. But I sure could’ve used that tree today.” 

The turian’s eyes flitted to the little pot in the corner of Autumn’s cabin, where her tomato plant had continued to flourish underneath the warm, bright glow of its lamp. 

“If I thought you could fit a whole apple tree in here, that’d be next on my shopping list,” he told her, a note of apology in his voice. “But for what it’s worth, anytime you feel like you need a little shelter from the world… you can always come to me.”

She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. Hers were still brimming, threatening to spill over, but she managed a smile as her heart did a little swoop in her chest. They were quiet for a moment until the silence became heavy and uncomfortable, weighing down the air around them.  

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” Autumn asked, grateful to find something else to focus on.

“Oh, that,” he replied, picking his datapad up off the nearby table and touching the screen to wake it up. “I’d almost forgotten, that was the whole reason I came up here.” He scanned his notes. “I just want to make sure my calibrations are accurate since the particular model of Thanix Cannon you acquired had to be retrofitted especially for the Normandy. Do you happen to know what the approximate kinetic energy output is? Per shot, I mean. Because on the models fitted for the big dreadnoughts it’s around 40 kT, but it’s bound to be a lot lower on the mini-models like ours. Probably closer to ten. You never want to assume when it comes to this sort of thing, though.”

He glanced back up at her. She was staring at him blankly, blinking her puffy eyes.

“Garrus, I have no clue what half of that even means. I just ordered the cannons you told me to order.”

“...Oh. Sorry, I forget sometimes that not everybody reads about ammunition physics for pleasure.”

“Do you want the name of the sales rep I talked to? I bet he can give you the specs you need. It was an armory out of Cipritine. I'd be happy to forward you his contact information.” 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he said. His expression changed back to one of concern, his brow plates furrowing. He reached toward her, brushing a loose strand of her dark hair behind one ear and raising a trail of gooseflesh down her neck. “You gonna be okay?”

She could feel a hot flush creeping up her cheeks. It wasn’t like he’d never touched her before, and over the past few months they’d become more and more physically affectionate toward one another. Still, there was something about this particular gesture that felt more intimate, somehow. Like something a lover would do. 

She found it hard to hold his gaze and turned her eyes to the floor instead, studying the rug underneath the table in front of them. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m gonna get some work done before bed to help settle my mind.”

Garrus chuckled at this. “Only you could find it calming to plan out a heist on a derelict Reaper. Don’t stay up all night.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, setting it on the table as he stepped over her knees and toward the door. “By the way, I noticed you hardly touched your dinner. If you keep getting so distracted by work that you can’t finish your meals, you’re going to pass out during a fight and get yourself killed. Snagged you that from the mess hall. Eat it.”  
  
She reached out and picked up the military-issue granola bar he’d given her, the khaki colored wrapper crinkling under her fingers as she examined it. _Hi-Cal Energy Bar,_ _Flavor #2: Oats and Honey_. Her lips curled into a smile as she heard the door slide open behind her.

“Thanks, Garrus,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder. “These are my favorite.”

He tipped her a cheeky sort of wink before turning to head to the elevator. 

“I know.”


	8. The Soft Parts

_“I used to think it would be nearly impossible to turn her on.”_

_“I had no idea how to touch him, or how much of it he would feel if I did.”_

_“I thought everything was armored. And I mean_ everything _.”_

 

_These are just a handful of the survey responses we got when we asked our human respondents what misconceptions or fears they had at first about engaging in a physical relationship with a turian. It seems that their species' most distinguishing feature—their plating—is also the most common source of worry when it comes to how intimacy works._

_The plating on a turian’s body is made of chitin—the same material that covers many of Earth’s insects—as well as trace amounts of metal to help deflect Palaven's intense radiation. It's common for humans to assume that this “armor” is completely desensitized, but that is not the case. While areas covered by chitinous plating are certainly less sensitive than exposed flesh, they are still innervated and can register heat, cold, pressure, pain, and even lighter touches, similar to the way a turtle can feel a human scratching his shell._

_A turian’s chitinous plating only covers around 45-50% of their body surface, mostly concentrated on the trunk and head, with some additional plating on the outer areas of the limbs. The rest of the body is soft, highly-sensititzed flesh. While a turian will certainly feel it if you brush a loving hand over the plates of their arm, the erogenous zones are spread out over the more supple areas: the back of the head, the neck, a thin strip down the chest and across the waist, the inner arms, and the thigh area. A soft kiss or caress on these areas is sure to be felt—and almost certainly enjoyed—by your turian partner._  
  
_It should also be noted that all turians have internal genitalia, concealed behind plating to protect fragile reproductive organs from damaging radiation. This makes foreplay incredibly important if you wish to have any kind of genital contact—unless your partner is truly aroused, you won’t be able to get past the gates._

 

* * *

 

“Ow! Fuck, Shepard!” Garrus drew in a sharp hiss as Autumn carefully manipulated a large gash on his neck, closing the skin with one hand as she applied a strip of medi-gel with her other. He knew she was trying her best to be gentle in her haste, as she always did when one of them needed a wound dressed in the field, but spirits, it smarted nonetheless.

“Come on,” she tutted, leaning back. “It’s barely a scratch. You just had half your head blown off a couple months ago.”

“Yeah, but the merc responsible had the decency to knock me out for that.” 

She smirked, standing as her fingers danced over her omni tool, putting its interface to sleep. “Well, you could always try, I don’t know… sticking to cover?”

Tali snorted behind Autumn as the commander helped Garrus to his feet. He rolled his eyes at the pair of them and put a hand to his tender flesh. _Some gratitude._

“Those husks would’ve overrun you if I hadn’t charged them,” he argued.

“I’ve dealt with worse than a few husks.”

“Fine,” he said, feeling irritable. “Next time I’ll just hide behind a crate and let you deal with it.”

“If you two are done fighting like an old married couple, we should probably decide what to do with _this_  before the whole ship implodes.” Tali gestured toward the unconscious geth at their feet as the ship shook more violently.

“Leave it,” grunted Garrus. “We have enough trouble to deal with as it is.” 

“But nobody has ever found one intact, Tali said so herself. Think about what we could learn.”

“Shepard,” Tali argued, looking down at the creature, “I’m as curious as you are, but I’m not sure it’s worth the risk. Think about what could happen if it infiltrated the Normandy’s systems.” 

“He’s wearing N7 armor,” Shepard noted, bending down to inspect it more closely. “I’d like to know why.”

Garrus grunted and opened his mouth to protest, but the metal under their feet gave an almighty lurch and he stumbled, nearly losing his footing altogether.

“No time to debate it,” Shepard said, glancing up at several husks slowly making their way onto the platform. Their bodies glowed eerily against the darkness of the crumbling ship as she lifted the geth’s arm and flung it around her neck. “We need to get out of here or we’re all toast. Come on, Tali, help me.”

Reluctantly, the quarian shouldered the other half of the machine, heaving its dead weight as the two of them began stumbling forward.

“I’ll watch your flank,” Garrus told them, shouldering his rifle as he turned to face the shambling bodies now quickly moving toward them. “Unless you’d rather I _stick to cover?”_

Autumn’s voice was strained, but he caught a subtle note of amused exasperation as she struggled to jog under the weight of the huge construct.

“Just shut up and shoot, Vakarian.”

 

* * *

 

They’d missed dinner. He was used to skipping or delaying his meals; it happened fairly often when you got picked for a mission. Most of the time, Garrus found himself so focused on whatever firefight they found themselves in the middle of that his next meal was the furthest thing from his mind. Once he’d gotten cleaned up and properly stitched back together in the med bay tonight, however, his hunger became much less easy to shrug off. His stomach growled like an angry varren, unwilling to be ignored any longer as he walked to the empty mess hall to prepare his food.

One of the nice things about surviving mainly on his new MREs was that there wasn’t much work involved. A little boiling water or a few seconds in the microwave and he had a hot meal ready to go. By the time the commander walked in to see what she could scrounge up, he was already seated at a table enjoying his dish while he did some reading up on the Thannix Cannon, a spoon in one hand and his datapad in the other. 

She plunked herself down in the seat next to him a moment later, a fresh mug of coffee and a banana in her hands. He glanced at the fruit, then back up at her.

“That’s not a meal, Shepard.”

“It’ll have to do,” she said with a shrug. "I'm too exhausted to fix anything more substantial." She peered into the little pouch of food in front of him. “What’re you having?”

“Loricus stew.”

“Is that some sort of animal?”

He nodded and did a little tapping on his datapad, then slid it over to Shepard, who looked down at the photo he’d pulled up. “They’re all over Palaven. Kind of a pest animal, though some folks find them cute and keep them as pets.”

“They look like if an armadillo and a raccoon had a baby,” replied Autumn, sliding the tablet back. “And then painted it purple.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Almost all of Earth’s meat is lab-created these days,” she told him as she peeled her banana. “I don’t think I’ve had beef from an actual cow in my whole life. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“I bet I know what the cow would say.” 

She smirked at this, then asked, “How’s your neck?” 

“Still stings a bit, but Chakwas got it stitched up.” He twisted in his chair and turned up his chin to show her the thin line of sutures near his collarbone.

“She did a nice job,” Autumn said, examining the wound. “Shouldn’t scar too much, if you're even worried about that.”

Garrus arched a brow plate, swallowing a bite of his stew. “Shepard, have you _seen_ my face?”

She laughed. “Well, maybe that scion was just trying to make things more symmetrical.”

“Remind me to send him a thank-you note.”

She huffed another quiet laugh, then glanced back at the wound, setting her food on the table.  

“You’re bleeding a little,” she said, and Garrus could feel that she was right—a thin trickle of something warm was trailing down his neck. He watched as Autumn stood, walked to the sink to wet a piece of paper towel, then crossed back to the table. “May I?”

He nodded, tilting his head to one side, and then he felt the warm, gentle press of the damp towel against his neck as she wiped away the blood. It sent a slight shiver through his body.

“Sorry,” she said, leaning back. “That hurt?”

“No, just… necks are kind of a sensitive area for turians. It’s one of the few places we don’t have plating, so everything there feels more intense. Good _or_ bad.”

“I see. I’ll file that away for later.” She gave him an impish grin as she took a rather suggestive bite of her fruit. Ordinarily, these kinds of flirtations gave him a pleasant, fluttering feeling in his stomach. Maybe it was the looming uncertainty about their mission to fight the Collectors, or maybe it was something to do with the mounting worry he felt about the way their relationship was so quickly changing. Either way, this time it just made him feel uncomfortable—almost queasy. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” he said, glancing around to make sure the mess hall was still empty. 

She gave him a quizzical look. “What’s up? You having second thoughts?”

Garrus tilted his head one way and then the other as if to indicate that he was conflicted about it. “Not necessarily,” he said. “It’s just that… Shepard, you’re the best friend I’ve got. And I hate to mess up a good thing, you know? What if this changes things? What if it’s different afterward?” He paused, then added, “Assuming there _is_ an afterward, of course.” 

He felt relieved to see her give a slow nod.  

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had the same thought,” she told him.

“And then there’s the crew,” he went on, gesturing with his spoon. “They seem to know something is up between us.”

“Yeah,” agreed Autumn with a little laugh. “Mordin cornered me in his lab the other day and tried to give me advice, talking about ointments and positions... and _chafing.”_  

Garrus put his head in his hands. “Spirits.”

“It was more than a little awkward,” she admitted, nodding again.

He looked up at her again, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Shepard. I don't want this… _whatever_ it is… to undermine your authority with the crew or make it look like you’re playing favorites. Or get you into trouble with your superiors, either.” 

“I think Hackett knows the odds as well as we do,” she replied with a shrug. “Given what we’re facing, and the fact that I’ll probably be looking at some serious repercussions from the batarians if I _do_ survive, I think he’d be willing to forgive me for a small breach of decorum on the eve of battle. As for everyone else, I think most of them trust me enough to know I wouldn’t play favorites. I’ll keep giving you the assignments you’re best at—sniping bad guys and blowing up mechs.” 

She reached over and wrapped her free hand around his wrist, and he felt a tingle run up his arm at her touch. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Garrus.”

“Oh, I want to,” he said. “Let me just make that very clear. I _definitely_ want to. I can’t even tell you how long it’s been. Years, plural.”

“Me too,” she said, leaning away and peeling the last of her banana. She popped the rest of the fruit into her mouth and chewed for a moment, gazing off with her mismatched eyes the way she always did when she was thinking. “Right after the Blitz, I think? Yeah, that was probably the last time. I went through a brief phase where I was… how do I put this? A _free spirit_.”

Garrus couldn’t help the little smirk that curved his mandible. “Bit of a promiscuous period for the decorated war hero, eh?”

“Let’s just say the ticker-tape parade wasn’t the _only_ perk of getting the Star of Terra.”  
  
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I can imagine.” Moving his spoon in the pouch of stew, he stirred the chunks of meat and vegetables around without taking a bite. “I don’t know why I’m feeling so weird about it. It’s just sex.”

“It’s not, though,” she said gently. “Not any more than your present was ‘just a tomato plant.’ It’s been a long time since I’ve been to bed with anyone, but it’s been even longer since it was anyone I cared about. That’s why it feels different. If it was just sex, you wouldn’t be nervous. And neither would I.”

“I guess not.” He looked up at her. “It does make me feel a little better to know you feel the same way. I just wouldn’t want it to change things. To change _us.”_

“It won’t. At least, not for the worse.”

 _Always so confident,_ he thought to himself, marveling as usual at her lack of doubt. “How do you know?”

“Think about everything we've gone through together, Vakarian. If all that didn’t change us, I don’t think there’s much that can.” She gave him a smile, and there was something behind her eyes, something soft and comforting, like a sip of spiced wine on a cold night—something that caused his stomach to flutter in that very pleasant way this time, making his nerves prickle warmly from crest to claw as she held his gaze. “I’m still going to feel the same way about you afterward as I do right now.”

He wanted to ask her precisely what that feeling _was_ , but before he had a chance to pose the question the elevator door opened around the corner. They both turned to see Miranda walk in, sauntering toward their table with her datapad glowing underneath one arm. 

“I've just received a message from the Illusive Man, Commander,” she said as she approached. “He'd like to speak with you about the geth unit you recovered on your mission. I believe he’s wondering what you intend to do with it.” She paused, cocking her head to one side. “As is the rest of the crew, I might add.”

“I intend to wake him up,” Autumn replied with a shrug. “I figured that much would be obvious, based on my report. I’ve got a few things I’d like to ask him. Like why he’s wearing Alliance armor, for a start.” 

Miranda raised her well-groomed brows. “Should I alert the security team to ready themselves, just in case?” 

“No, I had planned to wait until morning. If he decides he wants to kill us all, I’d like us to be well-rested.” She stood, grabbing her coffee mug and the discarded banana peel.

“And here I was worried you weren’t taking the risk seriously,” Garrus told her, leaning back in his chair. He watched her walk toward the trash can to throw away the peel, turning to give him a coy smile before she headed toward the elevator. He allowed his eyes to wander down her frame, leaving them trained on her backside as she rounded the corner.

Miranda let out a small cough. “Probably a good thing she’s not activating that thing tonight. _Some_ of us seem a little distracted.”

Garrus looked up at her. “What?” he asked, blinking.

She smirked. “Yes. Exactly.”

He raised his brow plates and grabbed the pouch of stew again, digging his spoon into it. 

“Haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, Lawson. Pass me the salt?"


	9. How to Kiss a Turian (NSFW)

_When it comes to physical intimacy, the actual mechanics involved in human-turian copulation are pretty straightforward. Virtually any form of sexual intercourse that you could have with another human can directly translate to a turian partner with the same set of parts. Of course, we all know that the physical side of a serious relationship doesn’t begin and end with sex. (At least, not if you’re doing it right!) There are many other intimate acts that we engage in that are just as important in creating bonds with one another._

_On Earth, every single human culture engages in some display of physical affection. Other mammals display similar behaviors, as well: chimpanzees will embrace one another, elephants will clasp trunks, dolphins will caress one another with their pectoral fins and even swim together while appearing to “hold hands.”_

_The need for physical contact transcends species. Touch is a universal language among sentient creatures across the galaxy. It’s how we show trust, promote bonds with one another, and provide comfort to ourselves and loved ones. However, differences in biology and cultures can often present challenges in fulfilling these needs in an interspecies relationship. Because turians have such unique physiologies, the idea of engaging in some of the most basic forms of human affection—like the humble kiss—can feel very daunting._

_Turians have come up with their own ways to demonstrate their fondness for one another, the most common being the forehead press. This ubiquitous gesture, like the kiss, can signify anything from a familial connection between a parent and child to a romantic attachment between lovers. This simple act does more than just provide a display of affection: studies have shown that the forehead press releases a chemical in the turian brain similar to oxytocin—better known as the “love hormone,” which creates feelings of happiness and devotion while relieving tension and lowering stress. Incorporating the forehead press into your rapport is a great way to make your turian partner feel as though you are prioritizing their culture and will add something pleasantly familiar to the uncharted territory of your growing relationship._

_However, making your turian partner comfortable by adopting their own cultural customs does not have to mean abandoning your own. Hugging and kissing are both forms of human affection that can be easily integrated into your relationship._

_Hugs require absolutely no adjustments; an embrace works just as well to cheer or soothe a turian, and like the forehead press, the application of gentle, steady pressure can trigger a mutually pleasurable chemical release. Kissing, on the other hand, necessitates some modification—especially once you get past the more puritan forms of the act._

_A turian mouth, as you have probably noticed, is very different from a human one. For one, their lips are much less flexible, their soft inner layer enclosed in an outer covering of hard chitin to provide protection from their homeworld’s high levels of radiation. This can make certain kissing maneuvers nearly impossible for them. They also have a set of prehensile mandibles covering their lower jaws, which don’t tend to interfere too much during mouth-to-mouth contact but can seem a little intimidating to first-timers._

_And speaking of intimidating, there are also the teeth to contend with: as a predatory and primarily carnivorous species, turians are equipped with sixteen razor-sharp incisors—four sets of four teeth each, positioned laterally inside the mouth. While they don’t pose any hazards for closed-mouth kissing, once you get into the more advanced techniques, they can definitely present a challenge._

_So how exactly_ do _you kiss a turian?_

_The answer is surprisingly simple: kiss them the way you would kiss another human—just take it slow and allow room for the kiss to evolve as you and your partner grow more comfortable with one another’s anatomies. For instance, you will probably find that keeping your tongue away from the perimeter of your partner’s mouth will keep it safe from accidental nicks, and you may find that their elongated tongues necessitate allowing a more shallow exploration of your own mouth._

_Learning the ins and outs of physical intimacy will be a new experience for both of you, and while it can certainly feel scary at first, exploring and discovering what pleases you both is part of the fun!_

 

* * *

 

 

“Your, uh… hair... looks good. And your waist is… very supportive.”

Autumn tried her best to keep a straight face as Garrus stood in front of the blue glow of the aquarium in her cabin—a silly and frivolous addition to the room, she thought, but she had to admit that watching the fish swim lazily about in their own little world had been soothing in a way she wouldn’t have expected. 

The turian, apparently immune to their calming effect, plowed on, fidgeting with the wine bottle in his hands and thinking to himself that it would be a mercy if the hull of the ship suddenly split open and pulled him out into space. 

“Hopefully that’s not offensive in human culture. Crap… I knew I should have watched more of the vids— ”

“Garrus.” Autumn took a step forward, raising a hand to switch off the stereo system that was thumping a thoroughly un-romantic dance beat that sounded like it would be more at home in a nightclub. She gave him a gentle smile. “You’re worrying too much. There’s nothing to be afraid of, here. It’s just me.”

He snorted. “Says the most intimidating woman in the galaxy.”

“I intimidate you?” she asked, feeling her smile falter a little. 

Garrus’s mandibles wiggled in discomfort.

 _Fuck_.

Immediately, he began stammering again, waving his free hand. “No! I mean… well, actually _yes,_ a little. But not in a _bad_ way, it’s just that you’re… you know… _you_.”  He shrugged his shoulders. If he’d been actively trying to come up with a less satisfying explanation, he didn’t think he could have accomplished it.

“And I’m… what, scary?” she asked. She looked torn between hurt and amusement, a tiny fraction of a smile lingering on her lips. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“No,” he insisted, shaking his head. “Shit, I’m really messing this up.” He put his forehead into the palm of his hand, closing his eyes in frustration as he struggled to explain. “Look, you’re Commander Shepard to them, and that’s big enough. You’ve got the reputation and the attitude, and the muscles.” He paused, looking up and gesturing at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I _like_ the muscles. I mean, I know they also mean you could easily knock me on my ass any day of the week, but that’s not why I’m nervous. _You’re_ not scary, but I’m… I don’t know. I guess I’m scared anyway. Because I don’t want to screw up what I have with you. I already lost you once, and assuming we all make it to the other side of this, I don’t want to do it again. I _can’t_ do it again.”

His shoulders drooped and he turned his pale eyes to the floor. 

“I just… I’ve seen so many things go wrong, Shepard. My work at C-Sec, what happened with Sidonis, now my mom. I want something to go right. Just _once_. Just…”

She took a step toward him, raising her hand to brush it along his cheek, fingers skimming over a soft cotton bandage covering skin that was still knitting itself back together underneath. She thought about that day on Omega, remembered him lying there in a pool of his own blood, her heart in her throat for that split second where she thought the worst had happened. She searched his eyes with her own, and he held her gaze, unblinking as they both hoped the other could feel what they were trying to say without words. 

Garrus bowed his head forward, and she mirrored him, feeling the warm plates of his skin press against hers as he raised a hand to caress her shoulder, allowing his thumb to trace the line of her collarbone to the spot where it disappeared behind her shirt.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, lifting his head and giving her a rueful look.

“Why don’t we start by opening the wine?” She reached down and took the neck of the bottle, and he let go, allowing her to examine it. “I don’t think I have a cork puller up here, though.”

“It’s a twist-off. Like I said, vigilante salary.” His mandibles twitched into an apologetic smile as he watched her open it, walking to the little seating area where a pair of glasses sat on the table. She took a seat, pouring a generous helping for each of them. Leaning back, she crossed her legs, cradling the goblet between her fingers. 

“You gonna join me?” she asked, patting the cushion next to her. 

He crossed the room and sat, stomach tying itself into knots as he picked up his own glass. He watched as she took a sip, looking hopeful for a positive reaction. “Well?” he asked. 

“It’s good.” She gave a small shrug. “Tastes like wine."

He looked disappointed, his mandibles drooping. "Oh."

“To be honest though,” she added quickly, “I never really could tell the difference between the premium bottles and the cheap stuff. I went to a wine tasting once back on Earth and it was _completely_ wasted on me. Everyone else was talking about how this one had notes of currants and blackberries, or that one had aromas of oak and vanilla. It all just tastes like fermented grapes to me.” 

“This one’s actually made from tupo berries,” he said, swirling the dark purple liquid around in his glass. “You know, the stuff they use in Tupari drinks. Minus all the sugar.” 

“Ah,” she said, nodding and adopting a posh accent. “Well, that explains the rich, full-bodied mouthfeel and complex bouquet. I’ll have the sommelier add a case to our collection.” She grinned as he snorted into his goblet. 

He took a drink and then smacked his lips. “I bet the Illusive Man is a wine snob.”

“Nah,” argued Autumn, shaking her head. “Bastard probably sips the tears of orphans from a crystal glass.”

“You’re going to be glad when this mission is over, aren’t you?”

She took a long sip, then scowled. “I’m tired of doing that man’s dirty work. Something about him just rubs me the wrong way. As soon as we finish our job today, I’m done.”

 _Assuming I live to hand in my resignation,_ she thought to herself. No need to say it out loud, however. They both knew the odds. Discussing them now wasn’t going to put anyone in the mood.

“Hard to believe we’re almost there,” said Garrus, staring into his wine. “Just one more mission. It’ll all be over in a little while.”

“We still have a couple of hours before we hit the relay,” Autumn reminded him, giving him a grin over the rim of her glass. “Plenty of time to get into a little trouble.”

He glanced up at her and then coughed nervously. “Well, I hope you’re not planning on _hours_ of trouble,” he said, arching a brow plate. “I _did_ tell you how long it’s been.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you’ll do your best.” Her eyes followed Garrus as he tipped his glass to his mouth and poured in a large gulp. “You’re still nervous,” she observed.

“I guess I just don’t really know where to start,” he explained. “Everything I come up with feels stupid.” 

“Just start the same place you’d start with anyone else.”

“Okay,” he said, turning to her. “If it’s so simple, then, what would _you_ do if _I_ was anyone else?”

She set her glass down on the table, stood, and took a step toward him. His brow plates raised as she knelt down, placing one knee on either side of him so that she was straddling his lap. “This.” 

“...Oh.” His voice sounded a little strangled and she couldn’t stop herself from letting out a soft laugh as she took the glass from him and set it down next to her own. 

“And then,” she continued, leaning toward him, “probably this.” She reached out and drew a thumb along his mandible, then pressed her lips to his. He caught a whiff of warm, wine-scented breath and closed his eyes, holding her closer. 

His hand slid up her back, fingers entwining themselves in her wavy hair. It was still damp from the shower, and the air around her carried a hint of that delicate, flowery smell that always followed her around. Her shampoo perhaps, he thought, or soap. He was reminded of the afternoon he’d finally woken up in the Normandy’s med bay, recovering from his injuries. He’d known she was there next to him before he’d even opened his eyes, that pleasant and familiar scent signaling her presence. After two years without her, the smell had been immensely comforting, like coming home.

He felt himself drawn back to the present as she flicked her tongue against his lips—gently, as though a request for permission—and he parted them for her eagerly.  Very soon, the faint taste of wine mixed with an unmistakable salty, copper tang, and he pulled away, brow plates furrowed in concern.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, and she raised a hand to her mouth where a small cut had opened up on her lower lip. 

“No,” she said, swiping her tongue over it. “Souvenir from the geth station. Just pissed it off, is all.”

“I was afraid it was one of my teeth. I’m trying my best to be careful, but—”

She bent down again. “You’re doing just fine,” she murmured against the flesh of his neck, her hot breath sending a frisson through his body as she kissed him, careful to avoid his fresh sutures.

It was gentle at first, a soft whisper of skin against skin, building to a crescendo of sensation as she moved toward his jaw, undulating her tongue against him and giving him a playful nip that dragged a moan from his throat. His hands slid over the cloth on the small of her back. Autumn shifted her weight, leaning away from him as she grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head in one smooth motion, then set about helping him out of his, as well.

As she sat up again, tossing the garments unceremoniously over her shoulder, he allowed his gaze to wander down her frame. She was wearing a simple white sports bra which left nearly everything to the imagination, but somehow she still managed to put to shame every asari dancer he’d ever paid to watch. Then his eyes found one whole side of her marred by a huge, fresh bruise, blooming purple and yellow over her skin. He frowned.

“Spirits, Shepard,” he said softly, raising a hand to it. 

She winced a little but gave him a crooked smile. “How does that expression go? ‘If you wanna make an omelet, you gotta crack a few eggs.’”

“Yeah, well, I’d like it if everyone would stop cracking your _ribs_.” 

He reached up and brushed a wave of hair behind her ear. No pink blush crept over her cheeks this time. Instead, she leaned toward him again and kissed him, and he met her lips in kind. This was not the urgent, lustful sort of kiss she had trailed over his neck, but soft and full, woven from the threads of every unspoken thing that had hung in the air between them for the past several months. 

She broke away to slide her bra over her head. He’d been so absorbed in her kiss and the feeling of her fingertips roving over his fringe that he hadn’t even noticed she was expertly shimmying out of it with her other hand. His eyes strayed down to look at her bare breasts, fuller and rounder outside of the confines of her bra, her little pink-brown nipples stiffening in the cool air of the room.

“They’re not a museum exhibit, you know. You’re allowed to touch.” 

Garrus turned his eyes back up to see her smirking at him, amused at his awed expression.

“Sorry, I know I’m staring. I’ve just… never seen human breasts before. I mean, some photos and things. But not, you know…”

“In the _flesh?”_ she joked.

He offered a small smile back and then asked, “Would that be... _pleasurable_ for you, if I touched them?”

She let out a soft laugh. “Yes, it would be _pleasurable_ for me.”

He placed a hand on her, sliding it up over the firm, flat expanse of her stomach before cupping one of her breasts in his hand, her nipple like a little pebble under his palm. He squeezed it gently, sliding his other hand down to grip her thigh. Every part of her body felt soft and warm, flesh giving way under his kneading fingers like a smooth, luscious dough, each caress eliciting soft moans from her lips. He never wanted to stop touching her.

Autumn rolled her hips against him as she covered his mouth with hers again. She felt pleasantly light-headed as his hands continued to explore her body, and she reached down to the waistband of his pants, nimble fingers working quickly to unfasten them.  

Suddenly, her knees left the cushion of the sofa. Garrus lifted her into the air and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed, setting her gently onto the mattress before straightening and sliding his pants down while she wriggled out of her own. 

The sight of the long, upright bulge in his briefs intensified the growing throb between her legs. He climbed onto the bed, the weight of his body pressing her into the covers as he rocked himself against her. She could feel him through the thin fabric of their last remaining layers of clothing, hard as the steel barrel of a gun. 

He was looking at her, drinking her in—her striking, mismatched eyes and the faint constellations of freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks, her full lips plump and rosy from their shared kisses, the little cut on her mouth now livid and raw.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he asked, his voice a tomcat’s gravely purr. Her mouth split into a shy smile, and now a flush _did_ color her cheeks. He wondered how long it had been since someone had told her this simple truth. 

“You’re not too hard on the eyes yourself.” She raised a hand to his jaw and traced along his mandible, the plating smooth and warm beneath her thumb. “I want you, Garrus.” 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “The feeling is mutual.”

“So I noticed.”

He gave her a grin, rolling off of her so that they could both finish disrobing. Before he could resume his position, she sat up and placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him back down on the bed. She straddled his knees and dragged her eyes down his body, engraving the lines of his plates and the curves of the long, lean muscles beneath into her memory. 

_Just in case it’s the last time._

The thought came automatically, and she hated it as soon as it whispered its way into her mind. She pushed it forcefully away, bringing herself back to the moment, wanting to be present for this, for _him_. 

She traced her hand down the narrow stripe of bare flesh that ran from his chest to his belly and then delicately over the outline of his erection. He craned his neck, watching her as she explored him with her fingertips.

“It’s blue,” she observed, arching a brow. “And it has ridges.” 

“Humans don’t have ridges on theirs?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I just feel bad for you now,” he said, his mandibles twitching into an impish grin. “You have no idea what you’ve been missing.”

“I’m looking forward to finding out,” she replied. “But first…”

Before he had a chance to respond, her soft, pink tongue was sliding against his length. He gasped at the feeling of her warm, wet mouth enveloping him, turning his eyes to the skylight above the bed where the stars were whizzing past outside the flying ship. He’d never felt anything like this. It was _ecstacy_... Almost too much so, in fact. He focused on counting silently to himself to avoid a premature end to their fun, then quickly abandoned that tactic in favor of a more tried-and-true method—attempting to recite an old turian nursery rhyme in his head. But this proved to be a lost cause, as well. He kept losing his place and having to start again.  
  
Reaching out, he gently cupped Autumn’s cheek. “Shepard, you’ve g—ah!— you’ve gotta stop!” 

She looked up, her brow creasing. “I’m sorry, was that uncomfortable?” 

He laughed. “Uh, no. It was _not_ uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was getting worried it would significantly abbreviate our evening if you kept going.”

Her face softened, that familiar mischievous smile settling in once again on her lips. “Oh, was there something else you had on the schedule?”

“I believe you wanted a demonstration of my _reach?”_ he offered, gently nudging her off of him. She rolled over onto her back, sinking into a pillow with that grin still curving her mouth as he hovered over her, his long, dark tongue winding itself around one pert nipple. Her skin pebbled into gooseflesh all over. His hands traced down the sides of her waist and over the twin curves of her muscular thighs, nudging them apart. He tickled his nails up the inside of her groin and felt her body stiffen at the sensation.

“Garrus, your talons—”

“I filed them down for you,” he told her. “Don’t worry.”

She let out a small sigh of relief, prompting him to chuckle as he brushed his fingers over the soft puff of curls at the crux of her legs. He gently slid one long digit along her folds, then tucked it inside her, delighting in the little “Oh!” that escaped her lips as he worked her, his tongue still dancing over her skin on its way down her body.

“Jesus Christ, Vakarian,” she gasped as it found its mark. She felt his mandible flare against her thigh as he smiled.

“I assume whispering the names of religious prophets is a good sign in your culture?”

Her eyes were shut tight, hands clenching the fabric of the pillowcase on either side of her head. “Shut up, don’t stop!” She curved her hips upward, urging him on.

“You’re the commander.”

He resumed, alternating between feather-light flicks and long, swiveling passes until he had her panting and moaning. Then he suddenly quit, and she sat up from the pillow, looking around to see him reaching over the edge of the bed. He took a small, foil-wrapped square out of the pocket of his pants and then discarded the garment on the floor again.

“You stopped,” she pouted, watching him rip the packet open with his teeth. “What did I say about stopping?” 

He smirked as he pulled out a translucent circle of latex and began rolling the condom on. It was clearly specially designed, fitting over his pointed tip and each individual ridge like a glove.

“I’m not going to last at this rate, even if you don’t touch me,” he told her as he finished the task. Then he leaned over her body, pressing his chest to hers as he bent close to her ear. “Besides,” he said in a dusky growl, “I want to feel it when you come.”

She gripped the back of his neck and yanked him toward her, kissing him with a wanton abandon as he lifted her leg and positioned himself. Everything between her legs was slick and swollen, and her engorged walls hugged every inch of him tight as he slid easily into her, his resulting groan vibrating deliciously against her mouth.  

“Fuck,” he hissed, burying himself to the hilt. He pressed his forehead to hers, stroking her cheek with one thumb as he breathed heavily, the salty-sweet taste of her still on his tongue.

His fingertip found her again, swirling against her as he rocked his hips, pistoning in and out with increasing urgency. He'd been right about the ridges. She felt her lips begin to tingle, a warmth blooming in her belly as he drew her quickly to the edge. A moan slipped through her lips and she gripped his carapace with one hand. He felt the sharp bite of her nails digging into the flesh of his arm.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his fingers working her faster as his own climax began to buzz through his veins.

Stars burst behind her eyes, his nerves came alight, and then the rest of the galaxy was falling away from them as they surrendered completely in each other’s arms, veins a rush of fire and ice. Sweet release washed over them both in waves of pleasure that ebbed and flowed, a rhythm that felt like the very pulse of the universe passing between them. There was no loud cry, no guttural roar into the night—just a series of soft, gasping breaths and whispered exclamations as they each embraced each other tighter, feeling as though their bodies could never be close enough.

Garrus inhaled deeply and carded his fingers through her hair as they both came down, the steady thump of his heartbeat slowing against her chest. He ducked down and kissed her, initiating the gesture for the first time, wanting to feel her soft lips part for him again, to taste her tongue and share her breath. She welcomed it, cradling his jaw in her hands. After a moment, they broke away, holding one another’s gaze.

“Wow,” she said softly, her mouth curling upward at one corner. 

“You said it,” he agreed. He returned the smile and propped himself up on his elbows. She winced, tucking her bruised side a bit as he tried to shift his weight. “Sorry, I’m trying not to lean on it.” 

“Were you just going to hang out like this until we get to the Collector base?” She quirked a brow at him, then looked down at where their bodies were still joined. 

He gave her an apologetic look, his mouth drawing into a line. “Yeah, here’s the thing about turian biology,” he told her. “I can’t actually, you know… get _out_ of you yet. Those little ridges get all swollen and firm and I’m kind of… well, stuck. If I pull out now, it’ll be uncomfortable for both of us.” 

“Oh,” she said, raising her eyebrows. She wondered to herself why _that_ important little tidbit hadn’t been in the guide.  _Thanks a lot, Janet Wilcox-Price, Ph.D._

“Think of it as a few minutes of forced afterglow,” he suggested, smiling at her. “And be glad this isn’t an awkward moment punctuating the end of a hate-fuck sort of situation.” 

She let out a warm, bright laugh that rang like a bell through the cabin and tickled him delightfully from inside of her, and he beamed.

“So,” she asked, tucking an arm behind her head, “any regrets?” 

“Are you kidding? That was the most fun I’ve had since the new guns arrived.” He grinned some more as he felt her giggle again and then asked, “What about you?”

“I can’t think of anywhere in the galaxy I’d rather be than pinned under the best-looking turian in Citadel Space.”

He furrowed his brow plates. “Just Citadel Space?”

“Don’t get arrogant on me, Vakarian.”

He snorted. Then his face softened into a serious expression as his eyes searched hers, flitting from the blue to the hazel and back again. He cleared his throat. “Shepard… can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” 

“How long have you been wanting to do this? You know… blow off steam?” 

“In general? Or specifically with you?” 

“With me, I mean.” 

She cocked her head to one side, considering. “That’s a hard question to answer.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, wondering with a sinking feeling if this was her way of letting him down diplomatically. She seemed to ponder the question for another moment, pursing her lips and tracing his carapace with her fingertips.

“Humans like to use this metaphor about boiling frogs,” she began, and Garrus quirked a brow.

“What’s a frog?” 

“It’s an amphibious species back on Earth. Slimy little animals that live near water and eat insects.”

“And humans boil them? Like… to eat?” 

“Huh? No, not to _eat_ .” She frowned, looking disgusted. “I mean, some people _do_ eat them, I think, but that’s gross and definitely not the point. It’s just a fable. Anyway, the story goes that if you drop a frog into boiling water, he’ll leap right back out. But if you put him in cool water and slowly heat it up, he won’t notice the water getting hot around him until he’s cooked alive. That’s kind of how this feels.”

“You’re comparing your feelings for me to a boiled-alive frog?” he asked, mandibles twitching into an incredulous smile. “Stop being so _romantic,_ Shepard _._ ”

“‘It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began,’” she quoted with a grin. “Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_. There’s your romance. Happy?”

“I haven’t read much human literature, so I’m afraid the reference is lost on me,” Garrus replied. He took a deep breath. “I guess what I meant to ask is, well… _was_ this just blowing off steam, or...what did this mean to you, exactly?”

There was so much she wanted to say. How long _had_ it been? Since Virmire, at least. Probably sooner. As for explaining her feelings, well, that was a lengthy answer, and not one she felt she could do justice to at the moment. Not with so much uncertainty looming. 

Before she could open her mouth to articulate any of this, Joker’s voice crackled over the intercom.

_“Thirty minutes to the jump, Normandy! Shepard, stop making graphs of all the ways we could die. Garrus, get those calibrations finished, for God’s sake. Tali, fire up those annoying little drones. Jack, prepare your best cusses. Everybody get suited up, we’ve got some Collector ass to kick!”_

Autumn shook her head. “For a man who’s gotten us out of more impossible scrapes than I can count, he’s got mind-blowingly poor timing sometimes.”

Garrus grunted, sliding himself out of her finally and laying on his back to stare through the skylight again as the galaxy sped past them. “Yeah, not gonna lie, I kind of hate the guy at the moment. I suppose I should go hit the shower and get armored up.”

“I can offer good water pressure and some company if you’d like to use mine,” she suggested. “Don’t know why I thought showering _before_ sex was the better plan—now I just have to do it all over again.”

He turned to face her, giving her a small smile. “Thanks, but I think I need to get my head in the game. Having you hanging around all lovely and naked probably won’t be very conducive to that.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Fair enough. Hey, listen… I know we don’t really have the time to do it properly right now, but this conversation… I _do_ want to continue it.”

“This your way of telling me not to get killed out there?” he asked.

“Yes. In fact, it’s an order.”

He leaned over and pressed his forehead to hers one more time. “Only if you promise the same.”

Autumn stood in the shower alone a few minutes later, washing the smell of sweat and lust off her skin, replaying the conversation in her mind and wishing she’d just said how she felt, no matter how rushed or inelegant it may have been. What if one of them didn’t make it? What if they _both_ didn’t? Damn it, why were the two of them always so consumed with waiting for the “right time?” They were soldiers at war. There _was_ no right time. The only moment they were guaranteed was the present one.

She hastily rinsed the rest of the soap off her body and shut off the water, then toweled herself partway dry and rushed to yank on some clothes before dashing out the door and punching the elevator button. Her hair dripped fat splatters of water on the floor as she waited impatiently for the platform’s arrival. Finally, the door slid open and she leapt in, jabbing the button for the crew deck.

Kasumi was finishing suiting up when Autumn burst into the observation deck looking like a drowned rat, her hair hanging in limp, wet waves. 

“Shepard?” asked Kasumi, alarm evident in her voice. “What’s the matter?”

Autumn’s eyes flew to the shelf of printed books her friend treasured so much, then back to the glittering eyes shining beneath Kasumi’s cloak. 

“Have you got a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ ?”

* * *

 

Garrus knelt next to the ship's cannons, running through his last-minute checklist. He tried his best to push away the series of worst-case scenarios that kept playing on a loop in his mind, interspersed with fond reminiscence about the time he’d just spent in Shepard’s cabin. He needed to focus. They all depended on it. Still, he couldn’t help wondering about the answer to his question, or whether he’d live to hear it. 

The door to the battery hissed open and he stood, surprised, turning to see who had felt the need to disturb him with an eleventh-hour interruption.

Autumn stood in front of him, hair a damp and tangled mess, something clutched tightly in one hand.

“Shepard, we’re set to jump through the relay in like five minutes,” he told her, frowning. “Why the hell aren’t you ready yet?”

“I can’t let you walk out there without knowing.” There was a slight tremor in her voice as she spoke.

“Knowing what?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

“I have to go get ready. Just take this. Kasumi is going to kill me, but… just take it.” She reached out and handed him a yellowed page ripped untidily from an old book, creased and rumpled from being gripped in her nervous, shaking hand. Reaching out to caress his cheek, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his forehead, eyes firmly shut against the fearful tears that burned behind them. “I’ll see you on the other side, Garrus.”

She turned and rushed back out the door, and Garrus looked down at the paper in his hand, blinking. The words _Pride and Prejudice_ were printed in the top center of the page. He scanned the paragraphs, saw nothing that made sense to him, then turned it over. She had underlined a section on this side in black ballpoint pen. 

He recognized the line she had quoted. _“It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began.”_ But she had also emphasized the sentence just above it, a question to which the quote had been the answer.

 

 _“Will you tell me how long you have loved him_ _?”_

 

His heart missed a beat as he read the words again, then a third time. Folding the paper into a compact little rectangle, he tucked it into a pocket inside his armor, smiling to himself as he knelt back down to finish preparing the guns, murmuring out loud to the universe, just in case he didn’t get the chance to say it to her directly.

“Me too, Autumn.”


	10. Epilogue

“How’s it looking?” Autumn strode toward the pilot’s chair, snapping the few remaining pieces of her armor into place as she walked. 

Joker turned in his chair and then froze, taking in her disheveled appearance. Her usual braids were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a halo of dark brown frizz. She was still buckling her gauntlets, her fingers fumbling with the clasps.

“You look like shit, Shepard,” he told her, frowning. “We’re making the approach to jump, you should be strapping in by now.”

“Yeah, well, give me a minute and I’ll buckle in up here. I got… delayed.”

“Uh huh,” he said, swiveling back around with a knowing smirk on his face. “So… how was the _sex?”_

“What?”

“Oh, come on, Shepard. That rachni nest on your head is a dead giveaway.”

She scoffed, flopping down into the chair next to his and bringing a strap over her chest. “Fine, yes. I had sex. You don’t need to be a shit about it.”  
  
“ _Me_ , a shit? You should be composing a speech of gratitude, Shep. You wouldn’t have gotten lucky at all today if it hadn’t been for me.”

“You?” she asked, her brow creasing in confusion. “What did you have to do with it?”

He laughed. “Read any good _books_ lately?”

A lightbulb seemed to flicker on behind Shepard’s eyes. “ _You_ sent me that guide, Joker?”

“Look, I’ve been watching you two idiots make puppy dog eyes at each other since before Sovereign, but neither of you was going to do anything about it on your own. You needed a nudge. Or, like, a really hard _shove._  So you got a free copy of the galaxy’s best guide on romancing turians, and he got some, uh… ‘instructional vids’ on romancing human women.”

“Porn. You sent him porn.”

“It sounds so _crass_ when you put it like that.”

“It's the truth. Though I won't lie and say it didn't seem to help."

"You. Are. Welcome," he replied, shooting finger-guns in her direction.

"I _would_ like to know how you hacked my datapad, though. I didn’t think you had the skill set for something that complicated.”

“Oh,” he said, turning to her with a grin, “I had help for that part.”

“I hope you found your copulation ritual both pleasant and relaxing, Commander Shepard,” said EDI’s voice from Joker’s other side. 

Autumn shook her head, her face turning bright red as she finished buckling her harness.

“I despise you both right now,” she said, looking out at the gargantuan relay looming in front of them. “You’d better hope they kill me out there.”

“You’d better hope they have a _hairbrush_.”

“Go fuck yourself, Jeff,” she said. She lifted her hand in a very rude gesture, but there was a grin beginning to curve her lips as she stared determinedly through the ship's window. “Now shut up and let’s go get our crew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
> (But not the end for Autumn and Garrus, who will definitely be returning for another story sometime soon.)


End file.
